


Wanted

by Inmyownidiom



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1880s, Alternate Universe - Western, Ben Solo is a US Marshal, Dark Tower References, Enemies to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Smut, F/M, Horses, Lots of plot, Porn With Plot, Racing across the desert, Rebels are an outlaw gang, Rey is a robber, Sexual Inexperience, Slow Burn, Southwest landscape porn, and maz's terrible cooking, and whiskey, banging in the dirt, canon-compliant character death, mountain porn, return to the smut train, rey redemption this time, there will be gunfights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-06-16 20:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 70,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15445740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inmyownidiom/pseuds/Inmyownidiom
Summary: When Rey joined up with the notorious Rebel gang, she thought knew what she was in for: robbery, gunfights, explosions, and more robbery.Four years later, being an outlaw has brought with it bags of cash and a level of notoriety that's hard to beat. But it's also brought a tall, dark, and brooding US Marshal intent on bringing the Rebels to justice.So without further ado, and because I'm terrible at summaries, here are some of the things that will appear in this fic: shootouts, descriptions of horses, really cool hats, makeout sessions, a lot of dirt, pretty sunsets, sex in dirt with a pretty sunset, old West jargon, and banter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It begins! The smut train leaves the station and creaks slowly forward on rusty wheels. It’s going to be much slower going and updating with this one, but a smut train ride is a smut train ride, amirite?  
> Heavily inspired and influenced by: Sergio Leone westerns, Westworld, some cheesy romance westerns on my bookshelf, and listening to anything by Ennio Morricone.  
> Optional auditory mood setting: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLXQltR7vUQ (For A Few Dollars More Theme, Ennio Morricone)
> 
> (Endless thanks and love to my lovely betas, Miss B--aka mortalenemyandme--and Miss LB)

 

The gunslinger raced across the desert, and the man in black followed her.

She didn’t know it, though.

Not yet.

 

* * *

 

Arizona Territory, 1880

 

From this far away, the town looked deserted. Gusts of wind buffeted dust through squat shrubs and clouded the wooden buildings in the distance. The sun cast squat shadows in front of Rey and her horse.

“When’s it gonna be?”

Rey took a last drag on the stump of her cheroot, then stubbed it out on the heel of her boot and flicked it into a patch of cactus. A startled lizard zipped out from between the needles and made a beeline for another cactus patch a few feet away.

“Soon, I bet,” Rey said.

Finn grumbled, not liking her answer to his question. “I hate this part.”

“Which part?”

“The waiting.”

“Yeah, me too.”

When you were a part of the Rebels, most of your time was spent waiting. Rey was used to it; waiting had been a constant presence in her life even before she had joined up with the gang, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

She glanced over at Finn. He’d taken off his wide-brimmed hat and was running the rim between his hands as if to smooth it out. His black hair was kept cropped close to his head, and Rey envied him for moment. Even though her own hair barely reached her collarbones, it still held a fair amount of heat and grime. After they were done with this town, she’d have enough money for a long soak in a decent tub. That, or she would make do with a long soak in the nearest river.

Finn pinched his lips together. The hat spun faster in his hands.

“You worried?” she said.

He looked down at his faded boots. “Yeah. Always am, before a…” He paused. Shuffled his feet in the dirt. “Before a...a…”

“Robbery?” Rey supplied.

Finn heaved a sigh and squinted at her. “Do we got to call it that?”

“All the ‘wanted’ posters do.” Rey scrubbed the back of her dusty neck with a dusty hand. Everything was dusty since they’d left Durango. Dust had infused every square inch of skin and clothing until it felt like it had permanently bonded to her and she couldn’t tell how much of her was _her_ and how much of her was dust.

The landscape had shifted from snow-capped mountains with foothills scattered with aspens and pines, to New Mexico’s rolling hills with scrubby junipers and scant patches of cottonwoods, to Arizona’s startling stretches of red earth and jutting mesas and blowing storms of red dust that whipped through the jutting mesas. Rey couldn’t look at the beautiful scenery without wondering how soon it would end up on her face and in her clothes. But that was just the Southwest for you. They weren’t even that far into the desert, since Colorado was still only a few days behind them. Rey tried not to think about traveling farther south.

The air held the slightest taste of summer heat. By the time they got to the Mexican border, summer would be blasting upon them like a furnace. Rey frowned and flicked a fingernail-sized clod of red dirt off of the exposed stock of her rifle in its saddle holster.

Finn huffed as he looked at the town.

“Is it, though?” he said.

“Is it what?”

“ _Is_ it robbery?”

Rey huffed a laugh. “Finn, we take money that ain’t ours. That’s the definition of robbery.” Her horse nudged her elbow and she gave him a scratch behind the ears.

“No,” Finn said. “That’s the definition of theft. Thieving’s taking goods that ain’t ours. Robbery’s taking goods that ain’t ours under threat of violence.” He cast an eye at the twin revolvers slung around Rey’s hips, then made an expression that said he had just answered his own question.

Rey wrestled with a smile. “That's a lot of definitions.”

“I stole a dictionary,” Finn mumbled.

The smile won and it broke upon her face. He couldn't ever bring himself to hurt anyone, be it with words or bullets. Which of course was why he was always the one to wait outside and guard the horses in front of whichever bank, whorehouse, or post office while the rest of the Rebels did their robbery. And it was most definitely _robbery._ Unlike Finn, Rey never tried to convince herself otherwise.

They turned together at the sound of plodding hoofbeats, and shaded their eyes as the sun glanced off of the buckles on a tawny leather jacket. Poe had the jacket slung over the pommel on his saddle, but that didn’t make the buckles any less blinding. Rey could have sworn that the man polished them nightly.

If the dust bothered Poe, she couldn’t tell. The man’s skin gleamed in the sun in a way that seemed far healthier than the red crisping that always hit Rey after a little too long without shade.

“What'd she say, Poe?” Finn said. “Gonna be soon?”

Poe heaved a melodramatic sigh. “General does what General does. She’ll let us know right before, and no sooner. It'll be fine, buddy,” he added almost as an afterthought.

Rey patted Finn's shoulder to reinforce the sentiment.

General Organa had been the Rebels’ leader since long before Rey joined. Rey had always assumed that ‘general’ referred to the Civil War, but Union or Confederate had never been mentioned, nor any explanation of how a woman could gain rank. In her four years with the group, Rey hadn’t ever found the right time to ask.

From up on his gray gelding, Poe and gave Rey a long look. “Ain’t you warm?”

“What?”

Poe gestured up and down her body. With a roll of her eyes, she waved his criticisms away.

Yeah, so her trousers weren’t the most breathable, and the linen shirt kept all of her sweat right next to her skin, and her jacket could be a bit on the stifling side. But the very idea of riding and running with three layers of skirt, petticoat, and shift made her sweat more than any of the clothes she currently wore. And besides, all of the dresses she had ever seen were either made of coarse muslin or fabric patterned with little flowers. Her trousers were nearly brand new and had the light, vertical pinstripe pattern that she thought was rather fetching. Better than a thick, flowery smock, in any case.

Rey adjusted the suspenders that held her trousers at her waist and couldn’t hold back a grumble at how they bagged in the front.  

“Lemmie know if you need help with those men’s clothes,” Poe said. “I’ve been wearing ‘em longer than you.”

“Not these ones. If you had, they wouldn’t need anyone to wear ‘em, on account they’d be standing up on their own.”

Poe straightened in his saddle. “Was that supposed to be an affront to my manly scent?”

“Ain’t nothing ‘manly’ about it, Poe.”

Finn choked a laugh, and then swallowed it under Poe’s glare. “She ain’t wrong, you know.”

“It’s...” Rey paused for effect. “It’s not so much ‘manly’ as it is ‘barn-like’.”

Poe’s tanned hand flew to his forehead. “I am appalled. Shocked and appalled. You keep on like this, Vic, I’ll be taking back my horse.”

Rey wrinkled her nose at the nickname and patted the soft, white muzzle at her elbow. “I paid you for him. He’s not your horse anymore. Right BeeBee?” The paint’s snort ruffled her hair and she gave him another scratch. BeeBee was by far the prettiest horse Rey had ever owned; most paint horses were splotches of white and brown, or white and black, but BeeBee was white and a brown so light that it almost looked orange.

“You got that thing"—she nodded to the docile grey—“and you’d best be happy with him.”

“You ain’t one to talk,” Poe said with a scoff. “Isn’t that your eighth horse?”

“Isn’t that your fourteenth?”

“I think he’s sweet,” Finn said as he rubbed the grey’s nose, then peered around Poe’s leg to look at the cluster of people gathered around the wagon. “Think it’s time yet?”

“Whaddya say, Vic, should we three just take the town on our own?” Poe grinned down at her.

Rey ignored him, as she tried to do whenever he used that nickname. When she had first joined the Rebels, everyone had commented on her proper English accent. It was the only thing she had of her parents, the only thing that gave her some sense of place. If she didn’t know quite who she was, at least she knew where she had come from. One of the Rebels jokingly called her ‘Queen Victoria,’ and when that stuck, it was shortened to ‘Vic.’ As she proved herself to the gang, everyone began to use her real name. At least, everyone except Poe.  

The rugged man in question shifted in his saddle under Finn’s nervous stare.

“It’ll be fine, buddy,” he said. “Just like every other time you nervoused yourself up. We go in, we go out, we leave.”

“I just…worry about you, is all,” Finn said, looking between Rey and Poe. He shrugged. “Maybe one of these days someone don’t come out.”

“Not today,” Rey said under her breath. She couldn’t leave this group; after so many years of looking for family, she had found it in a handful of thieves and robbers, and like hell would she let anything tear her away.

Several cries of excitement sounded behind them.

“There you go, Finn,” Poe said and tightened the grey’s reins. “Now it’s time.”

Rey checked her girth and swung up into her saddle as Finn lunged for his own horse, seemingly startled even though he had been waiting for this very moment all morning.

BeeBee sidestepped and flicked his ears flat at the commotion behind them. Horses whinnied and pranced as their riders sent out whoops, hooves struck at the ground, and the wind blasted the airborne dirt against the back of Rey’s head. She could feel the grains stick to the sweat behind her ears.

“You’re okay,” Rey hushed to BeeBee as he tossed his head, and patted his neck while fantasies of a bath reintroduced themselves to her thoughts with ferocity. It had been far, far too long since she had been submerged in water. Hasty wipes with a filthy rag couldn’t even come close, nor could a quick splash on her face from a horse trough. Just her and a river...or, even better, her and a river and a thick bar of foaming soap. There was no good reason for her mouth to water at the thought of such a thing, but it did so anyway.

After this job, she’d duck into a general store and swipe a bar. Hell, she’d even _pay_ for a bar of soap at this point. And that was saying something.

Finn and Poe pulled their horses up alongside BeeBee, and the rest followed: Rose, who couldn’t hit a tin can with a gun if she were a foot away, but could punch like someone twice her size; Chewie, a giant of a man whose language was composed of mostly unimpressed grunting; and Amylin, the expert in explosions and dynamite. A couple others—Maz (the cook), and Artoo (the farrier)—stayed with the wagon and the General in case anything in town went sideways.

 _Here’s hoping it won’t, Rey_ thought. They’d been lucky so far, but luck could be like a well in the desert —it could run dry at any time without even a drop of warning.

Rey adjusted her hat low on her forehead, then tied her kerchief around her face so that only her eyes were visible. Looking around, she saw the others doing the same.

Her heart gave a little flutter, like the wingbeat of a hummingbird. There was always that moment, right before, when everything seemed to hang in balance and pause for just a second: the weariness and sorrow of the past met head-to-head with the unknown future. Rey pulled out one of her revolvers, popped open the cylinder, and filled the single empty slot with a bullet from her belt. She did the same with the other revolver, and then the unknown future seemed a little more certain.

“Come back to me, all of you,” a woman’s graveled voice said, and they all turned in their saddles.

General Organa stood in the dirt, the embroidered fabric of her dress somehow free of the red dust. A single Colt was slung around her waist in a thick belt. Poe had told Rey once that the belt had come from her former husband, and Poe had only laughed when Rey asked if it had been taken by force. The General’s wide-brimmed felt hat cast a shadow on her face, but Rey caught a glint of a smile.

“Come back with the goods,” Poe called out.

“Come back with the glory,” Amilyn said.

Finn raised a fist as he said, “Come back with our heads!”

“Come back without lead,” Rose said in a joyful shout.

“And we will come brgh with grh fghrsggrggr,” Chewie mumbled.

Rey wrinkled her nose at him underneath her bandana. “And we will come back with our freedom!” she finished. The General lifted her palm in her own succinct form of farewell, then the riders let out a raucous whoop and galloped across the desert.

That’s what they were really finding. That’s why Rey stayed. _Freedom._ She didn’t live for the pulse-searing fear that came with facing down a lawman’s rifle, or racing from a sheriff with bullets flying over her shoulder, or shooting the leg of a shopkeeper who reached too quick into his desk; she lived for the freedom. It was a lesson she’d learned quick in the West: you could be mighty free if you had money.

They slowed to a walk right as they entered the town. As planned, no one was standing around to greet them. The General had come up with the method years ago—come into town on a Sunday morning, and while everyone is at church, hit the bank, divest the locals of their funds, and then skedaddle before prayers are finished. No mess, no fuss, no unnecessary conflict. Most of the time, at least.  

A swinging sign on the nearest building proclaimed ‘Black Rock General Store’ in blocky letters. Rey tried to peer into the windows, hoping for a glimpse of some soap, but only saw sacks of flour, a few baskets of apples, and yards of flowery printed muslin.

BeeBee’s ears perked as they passed the Sheriff’s building and he whickered a greeting to the black horse out front. Rey let out a low whistle; she knew excellent horseflesh when she saw it. This beast’s coat gleamed like it had been polished. It must have been nearly 17 hands high—larger than any of the Rebels’ horses. A reata led from its halter into the building, and Rey felt a modicum of respect for its owner; too often had she seen horses tied to posts using their bridles, and either an insecure knot in the reins would come undone and the horse would wander away, or a shot would ring out and scare the horse into trying to break away. Horses were gorgeous animals, but not exactly the brightest lamps in the coal mine, and Rey had seen more than one sever its tongue on a bit while attempting to tug free of a perfectly-tied knot while in a bridle. She wondered for a moment who would be on the other side of the reata lead.

“There it is,” Amilyn said, breaking Rey out of her equine thoughts, and pointing a gloved hand at a wooden building at the next corner where white letters spelled out ‘BANK’ on the face in a type nearly three feet tall.

At least it was obvious.

They pulled their horses to a halt and dismounted. Rey never ceased to be impressed by Amylin’s grace in a dress, especially when descending from a horse. Rose had long ago taken up Rey’s habit of wearing men’s clothes, but Amilyn wore the latest long skirts, stiff corsets, and kid gloves, although her gloves usually had powder burns and the fingertips were black by the end of the week.

“Be careful, please,” Finn said to the group.

Poe spun a pistol around his index finger and slid it easily into the holster at his hip. “Don’t need to worry, brother. I’ve got the fastest hands in the West.” He wiggled his fingers at Finn and his eyebrows at Rey, who leveled him with an unamused stare. Poe transferred his eyebrows to Rose, who giggled.

Chewie let out a low grunt to show he didn’t approve.

“Git on, then.” Amylin’s tone was one of a cattle driver rounding up a stubborn cow.

They left the reins in hands of Finn and Rose. Rey checked her revolvers one more time, figuring that the rifle would with Bee; it was a small bank, and she doubted that she’d need it at the moment. Maybe when they were racing out of town, but not now.

The door burst open easily. Two tellers stared at them, wide-eyed and hands already up by their heads. Neither tried to make any sudden moves, and soon enough the group had four burlap sacks, each only a quarter-full. That was the risk; rob a small town, get a small cut.  

A wall covered in ‘wanted’ posters caught Rey’s notice, some drawn in a loose hand and others accented with grainy photographs. One in particular gave her pause. She was never very good at reading, but she could make out enough to read her own posters.

' _Reward: for the capture of any or all of the Rebel Gang of Outlaws and Robbers, wanted for theft of train, coach, and bank. They wear a bandana over the face. $500 for each.'_ Below the writing, a sketch showed three people staring out between hats and bandanas. It wasn’t even a good sketch; two of the people didn’t have the same sized eyes, and the third lacked pupils.

Even so, it was perfect. No names, no faces, no _nothing._

Rey reached up and tore it off the wall, excited to show Finn and shove it into his face and say, ‘See? See? _Robbery.'_ She stuffed it into her pocket and turned to leave, then saw a writing desk along one wall.

“Come on, girl!” Poe shouted from just outside.

But that writing desk would have paper, and pens, and she could practice her letters, and Finn could practice his cursive, and perhaps he could even teach her a some of it...

She ran to the door and hucked her bag at Poe before lunging to the desk. “I’ll be just a minute,” she called out. The jiggling of lock on the desk and the racing hoofbeats of the gang covered the sound of the footsteps behind her.

“U.S. Marshal, stop there!’

Rey froze as her heart made a mad dash into the pit of her stomach. She could feel the rifle aimed at her back as if it were a cold stare. And that voice—deep and serious with an edge of anger to it. Hardly an accent. It sounded only a few paces behind her, so she’d get filled with lead before she took a step to run.

Her fingers twitched towards one of the revolvers. If she turned as she was unholstering it, it would be hidden by her body, and by the time she was facing him she could blast him all the way to Phoenix.

“Hands above your head. Slow. I will shoot you. I have no qualms about it.”

Dammit, dammit, _dammit._ She’d think of something, even if she ended up manacled in a jail cell.

Finn’s head popped into sight around the doorway, and his eyes widened as he saw her with her hands up.

“Go!” she shouted before Finn could think about running in. “Just go!”

His head disappeared as quickly as it had come, and a set of boots thudded across the bank floor as someone raced to the doors.

Maybe it all wasn’t so bad, after all. This was a distraction, and perhaps the Marshal was racing away to catch the others, so she could—

“Keep still,” the voice said as Rey’s body tensed to move. Same spot, just as close, but a little more smug. Like a trapper gloating over the fox in his snare.

_Dammit._

“Turn around. Hands on your hat.”

Rey swallowed. Where in the hell had he come from? U.S. Marshals didn’t just hang around tiny towns waiting for the tiny towns to get robbed. He’d known they were coming. Somehow. She was plucked. So very, very plucked. Shouts and gunshots rang outside, then the sound of half a dozen sets of hooves pounding away into packed earth. Every second that they grew fainter, the pounding of her heart grew louder.

“I said, ‘turn’,” the voice said. It was almost a growl, low and biting.

She didn’t want to, but the cock of a rifle convinced her. Hands laced on the rounded bowl of her hat, she spun slowly, then sucked in a sharp breath.

The Marshal was intimidating.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

This man was tall, broad-shouldered, and long-legged. His black hair, pale face, and sharp nose were all a little too long, and he had a twisting weal of a scar that raked down over one dark eye and looked awful recent. A Marshal's badge gleamed on his black coat, matching perfectly with his black pants and shining black leather boots. He held his rifle as if it was an extension of his body, and stared down its barrel at Rey with a look that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end: calm on the surface, but an inferno raging inside.

He wasn’t intimidating. He was terrifying. He was like a ton of dynamite stacked in the flames of hell. You knew it was going to blow everything to bits, but you just didn’t know when.

Rey swallowed again.

The worst part was that she recognized him.

A wooden plank creaked behind her, but before she could turn, the Marshal’s gun dropped a fraction.

“Don’t!” he shouted, and before she could wonder what instruction she had failed to follow, something heavy hit her head, and she dropped to the wooden floor like dead weight.

 

* * *

 

Rey tried to open her eyes, but her lids were heavy and sticky. Two voices argued, and their words floated into her ears like fine down.

“You could have killed her.”

“Ain’t that the point?”

“The rest got away. If you killed her, we wouldn’t know where they’d gone, or where they’ve been staying, or—”

“I thought you was so good at trackin’. Just track ‘em again.”

Rey heard a frustrated grunt. “Get out.”

An offended sniff. “This here is my building. Can’t just tell me to scamper.”

“I believe I just did.”

There was something sinister in that, something cold and unmoving. The second voice seemed to agree, for Rey heard retreating boots and then the slam of a door.

“Jesus,” the sinister voice muttered, sounding much less sinister and more exasperated.

She couldn’t have been out long. Vague memories prickled at her brain: someone pressing a hand to the back of her head, angry words spilling out over her prone body, and then being thrown over a shoulder and flopping around like a fabric doll. She brought her fingers to the crown of her head. It hurt like the blazes, and she could feel the beginnings of a wicked lump, but thankfully, not the stickiness of blood.

Rey rolled over to her side and finally, her eyes opened. Wooden paneling faced her, and as she lifted her head, she saw vertical rows of iron bars to either side. Scrambling to her feet, she twisted around and nearly stumbled as her head pulsed in anger.

Tall, Dark, and Marshal stood on the other side of the bars with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at her. He’d taken his coat off—it hung on a hook by the door—and was down to his vest. Through the light linen of his shirt, she could see the expanse of his arms and shoulders.

“You’re up,” he said. It was a statement. Not of relief, not curiosity, not even a hint of a question if she was all right, just a statement of a fact.

Earlier, when she thought that she had recognized him, it buzzed low at the base of her skull. Looking at him now made that recognition flash bright through her entire brain.

“I’ve seen you before,” she said.

He gave a noncommittal grunt.

Rey continued. “Right outside of Denver. Few months back.” The memories flooded back to her. “You were in the saloon, sitting at the bar. Right before it...um…” She bit her lip.

“Exploded?” He offered.

“Er, yeah.” She gestured at the puckered skin that traced down from his eyebrow to his chin and disappeared underneath his shirt. “That happen then?”

One of his hands started to lift up to touch it before he stopped himself and leveled a cold stare at her.

“Sorry,” she said without sincerity.

She should probably feel guilty, nearly blowing up a U.S. Marshal, but the way he was staring at her—as if she was some varmint come down from the hills, ready to leap up and snap her teeth at him—relieved any sort of guilty conscience. Besides, they hadn’t been intending to blow up the Marshal, exactly. Just the building. And the safe. Amilyn had gone a little overboard with the gunpowder, and several barrels of whiskey had caught, and then everything had gone to hell. Rey easily remembered how the jagged timbers of the flaming saloon had looked against the piles of fresh snow.

“You been on our trail since then?” She couldn’t blame him—if someone had nearly blown her up and left a huge scar across her face, she’d probably chase them halfway across the country even if they didn’t have a bounty on their head.

His lip twitched. “I’ve been on your trail since the Dakotas. Not exactly hard to follow.”

“Oh.” Rey cleared her throat. So he hadn’t been stationed here, waiting their arrival. The Rebels had made themselves enough of a name that a wanted poster wasn’t enough; they’d earned themselves a dog-catcher.

His word choice gave her pause. ' _I’ve_ been on your trail,’ not ' _We’ve_ been on your trail.’ He couldn’t possibly be arrogant enough to go after an entire gang of outlaws by himself, could he? Rey was about to ask him, when he spoke.

“You’re not what I was expecting.”

Rey couldn’t read a single thing in those black eyes. They traveled over her face with all the impartiality of someone looking at a sack of flour behind a till.

Oh, no…

Her hands flew to her face. The bandanna was gone. Or, not gone, but wadded up into a ball on the desk on the other side of the bars, along with her jacket, her belt, her revolvers, and her hat.

She whirled around to the wall behind her, breath hitching.

After all these years, no one had seen the face of a Rebel. Anonymity had been their greatest armor and the most solid form of safety, and now, she had just gone and busted it wide open.

“No use in doing that,” he said, and she could practically hear his raised eyebrow. “Don’t know what you’re expecting to keep hidden.”

Rey clenched her hands into fists and willed her composure not to crack.

“Didn’t think a notorious gang of outlaws was made up of little girls.”

She spun back to the bars before she could stop herself.

“I’m not a _little girl,"_ she snapped.

Marshal didn’t look convinced. “How old are you?”

“Forty-five.”

He snorted in disbelief. “All right, then. What’s a forty-five-year-old Englishwoman doing in Arizona with a gang of robbers?”

Rey kept her mouth shut at that.

Marshal took a step towards the bars and she willed herself not to back up.

He cocked his head a little to one side as if analyzing her. “Why are you all the way out here?”

Rey pursed her lips. “I was born in Santa Fe.”

“If you were born in these states, then I was born at the bottom of the ocean.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”

His closed mouth worked as if he was trying to control his frustration.

“The sheriff is going to hang you tomorrow,” he bit out.

Rey thought of her friends—no, her _family._ She let a small smile slide across her face. “He’s not.”

He clenched his jaw. “Yes, he _is._ But if I can convince him that you were taken against your will and forced to act on behalf someone else, maybe someone who’s controlling the lot of you, then you have a chance.”

Rey blinked, taken aback. “Why would you do that for me?” Her shock swiftly transformed into rage at the look of pity the Marshal gave her.

“Because you’re a girl,” he said as if addressing a child in frilly petticoats. “You’re a slip of a girl and you hardly look capable of riding a horse, much less taking out an armed man. There’s no possible way on this green earth that you signed up for this life of your own volition.”

Rey gritted her teeth.

The Marshal took another step forward and when he set his hands on his hips, Rey saw the ring of keys hanging off his vest. One key was larger than the rest and if she knew anything about jail cells (which was, to be honest, quite a lot), then she would bet it opened all three of these cell doors. Black Rock was practically a hole in the dirt, and even though its tiny bank hardly had enough cash to cover living for a month, its jail cells weren’t the most fortified. Unlike the cells in Denver and Cheyenne, each of these cells only had the one door between an inmate and the door to the outside.

A wisp of a plan began to root in Rey’s mind.

He gestured to her clothing. “You may dress like a man, but you’re still just a girl.”

Oh, for love of…

“I’m twenty-two,” she barked.

“Gonna keep counting down until you get to your real age?”

Rey glowered at him. “Why are you so keen to learn about _me?_ Shouldn’t you be asking about my gang? Wasn’t that what the sheriff was hounding you about?”

“If you could even call him that,” the Marshal mumbled with all the warmth that one would talk about a cockroach in their stew, then peered closely at her. “If I ask, will you tell me?”

“No.”

Marshal sighed, gave a harsh nod, and began to walk to the door.

Shit, she hadn’t expected that. Her plan was growing, but it required him. And his keys.

“Wait,” Rey said, making her voice as plaintive as she could muster. She went to the jail cell door and wrapped her hands around the bars. “I...I’ll answer your questions.”

When he turned, intrigue was plastered all over that long face. He approached the cell, but stayed several paces away. _Closer. I need you closer._

“How many are in the group?”

“Eleven,” she whispered, barely audible.

“What was that?” He took a step towards the jail cell.

Rey looked at the window as if she was worried that someone would overhear, then said in a hushed voice, “There are eleven of us.” There were really only nine, but it couldn’t help to pad their numbers a bit.

“How long have you been with them?”

“F-four years.” She forced her voice to quaver and blinked down at her boots.

“All that time?” he said, all concern and disbelief. He took another step. If she reached through the bars, she could touch his vest with her fingertips. _Closer._

“Marshal, I don’t want to—” Rey sucked in a rattling breath and let her eyes drift up to his, pulling on every remnant of the frightened girl that she’d spent so long trying to bury. “Can you help me?”

He took two more steps, so close that he towered over her and she could smell him: leather, gunpowder, a hint of tobacco, and something...fresh. Soapy. His chin hardly had a hint of whiskers, and Rey guessed that he’d used the soap to shave that morning. She shouldn’t be noticing this, but she did. The top of her head barely came up to his jaw. Her stomach fluttered, but whether it was because of this sudden closeness or because all of the pieces of her plan were set, she wasn’t sure.

“What’s your name?” His question was gentle.

She didn’t have to answer, and she didn’t have to tell him the truth, but for some reason, she found herself saying, “Rey.”

The corners of the his mouth flickered in the briefest of smiles. Then it was gone, as if it had never been there. The fluttering in Rey’s stomach quickened.

“Of course I’ll help you, Rey,” he said.

She beamed up at him, an honest-to-God genuine smile. “Thank you.”

He didn’t even expect it when she dove both hands between the bars, latched onto the front of his vest, and pulled with her whole weight. The bars rang like a bell as his head clanged against them, and before he could find his bearings, Rey had snatched the keys, shoved the biggest one into the lock, and turned. Poe might have the ‘fastest hands in the West,’ but Rey’s were a close fourth. Not quite at his level, but good enough for this.

The door swung inwards, as they usually did, and Rey threw it open, pulled him inside, and then banged it shut behind her. After she’d locked it, she tossed the keys onto the sheriff’s desk.

If she wasn’t feeling bad for him before, she felt a little bad now. He was blinking rapidly and rubbing his forehead as if he hadn’t yet realized where he was.

Then, it all seemed to click into place. His black eyes snapped to her and he lunged at the bars with a feral snarl that made Rey leap backwards despite the thick bars between them. Those broad shoulders heaved, and he bared his teeth at her.

Rey straightened and lifted her chin, trying not to let the fear show on her face. Her limbs buzzed with adrenaline from what she had just done and her legs threatened to shake, but she gave him a dazzling smile.

“Thanks for underestimating me.” She tapped her forehead with an unsteady finger in a salute. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

His gaze snapped to the building’s front door. Every line of his body practically vibrated with fury, but still, he didn’t yell for the sheriff. Rey hadn’t thought he would. Yelling for help would have meant that he _needed_ help, and from what she’d gleaned, this man was the least likely to ever admit to such, especially from a sheriff he’d spoken of with such disdain. She could take her time reacquiring her effects.

After checking her pistols, Rey was about to buckle on her belt when she saw a tin cup of coffee on the desk, and forgetting herself for just a moment, she let out an excited gasp.

“That’s mine,” the Marshal growled from the cell as Rey lunged for it, took a long gulp, then moaned. Oh sweet heavens, she hadn’t had coffee like this in _years._ Somehow, no one had been able to snag a bag of the stuff on their runs, so they’d had to make do with chicory coffee. It wasn’t even in the same county, taste-wise. This was perfect. It was even still warm.

“Hey!” His harsh grunt dragged her back. “I said—”

“I _heard_ what you said,” Rey said. “By the time you get out of there, this would be cold, so really, I’m doing you a favor.” She tipped the tin to get the last drops, then wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

As she set the cup back on the desk, she noticed the freshly folded shirt on the back of a chair. Her own shirt was nearly stiff with dried sweat and dirt, and she only paused a minute before snatching the clean one.

“That’s mine too,” the Marshal said, but Rey ignored him and began to unbutton her shirt to the sleeveless undershirt beneath. When the suspenders came off her shoulders, she had to lean against the desk so that her pants didn’t fall down to her knees. Sometime soon, she’d get a nice pair of pants, and they’d be tailored. There hadn’t ever seemed to be time for that, what with all the robbery and fire and fleeing. And explosions, of course. (Bless Amilyn and her skills.)

When her old shirt fell to the ground, Rey was almost surprised that it didn’t land with a thud. A sharp intake of breath came from the cell.

“Don’t worry,” she said as she shook out the folds of the clean shirt. “I’ll leave you mine. Once you wash it, I’m sure it’ll work just fine.” The new shirt smelled like him, and Rey didn’t quite know how to feel about that, but she slipped it on anyway. She flicked her attention to the cell and her hands stilled.

He was staring at her, knuckles white against the black bars. That stare wasn’t impassive, and it didn’t have a trace of pity, nor rage. There was something _hungry_ in those black eyes and it made gooseflesh dance across her arms. She ducked her head and fastened the buttons as quickly as possible and rolled the suspenders onto her shoulders. The sooner she got out of here, the better. If she had to guess, that large, beautiful black horse she’d seen on the way in was his and her fingers itched to steal it.

“You played me,” he said as she buckled her belt and arranged her holsters.

“Yeah,” Rey said simply. “You _wanted_ me to be innocent. So badly.” She huffed a chuckle and turned to him, the tightness of the gun belt around her hips helping her courage return. “You were easy.”

“The Rebels didn’t snatch you.” The hungry look was gone, replaced by impassivity once more. She wondered for a moment if she had imagined it.

“Nah,” she said with a smile. “I joined myself, ‘of my own volition’, the day I turned sixteen.”

His black eyes narrowed. “You said you were twenty-two.”

“I lied!” she said cheerily.

“About everything?”

Rey slipped on her jacket and reached for her hat. “No, not everything.” Her hand hovered over the hat and instead landed on the silver pocket watch on top of a pile of papers. She turned it over in her fingers and pressed the little button on the bottom to pop open the cover. The glass was cracked and none of the hands moved.

“This watch is broken. Else it needs to be wound.”

“Put that down.”

His voice was back to that menacing tone, the deep one that seemed to vibrate her spine. It was sinister and it was angry and it wrapped around her until she almost felt forced to comply. Which meant this watch was important to him. Very important. She snapped it shut and wiped her thumb over the engraving on the back. A chain of roses arced above flowing calligraphy that read:

_‘To Ben, On His 16th Birthday, Love from Father.’_

“Your name’s ‘Ben’?”

“Put it down.”

If he gripped those bars any tighter, he’d probably break his hands. The watch made a dull thud as it settled back onto the wooden desk.

Far off in the distance, Rey heard a familiar whoop and it lifted her heart. She spun around to the Marshal with a grin.

“Well, thanks for putting me up, Ben,” she said, “but I’d best head on out now.”

If looks could kill, she would have been a charred corpse on the floor. His mouth pinched and his teeth ground and in that moment, Rey would admit that he was fine to look at, all angry and wrathful. She could smell him on her shirt and feel the whisper of his breath as he had talked to her through the bars, and it stirred something inside of her.

Rey had never been one to think through her actions—it was one of the reasons she was running with a gang of outlaws—and now was no different. She ran to the bars, leapt onto the low horizontal rung so her face was even with his, and kissed him.

The moment that her lips touched his full ones, she realized that it was a mistake. She was literally face-to-face with a man that could reach through the bars, grab one of her guns, and shoot her through the belly before she could draw another breath. He could slam her head against the cell like she’d done to him and wait for the sheriff to stroll in and find her knocked unconscious. He could wrap his massive hands around her throat and throttle her for lying to him and shutting him in a cell.

What in the hell had she been thinking?

Oh, right, she hadn’t.

What little had crossed her mind, she had imagined it as a split second action. There and gone, like lightning in a desert, a tiny token he could remember her by after she galloped into the distance.

That was before he started kissing her back.

One of his hands fisted in the collar of her shirt and the other wrapped around her belt, pulling her against the bars and against him.  His mouth slanted over hers and he kissed her with a ravenous hunger that made her even more relieved that he was locked up: not because of what he might do, but because of how she wanted him to never stop. She was floating, falling, drunk on the rich smell of him and the pressure of his body. The backs of his knuckles brushed the bare skin of her stomach and when she gave a small moan into his mouth, he groaned in response. Fire raced from the tips of her toes to her chest.

Cries and gunshots blasted outside. He let go reflexively and Rey jumped backwards out of reach onto unsteady legs. Her breathing was ragged and her pulse thundered through her entire body.

 _What in the_ hell _had that been?_

Ben the Marshal looked as if he was asking himself the same question. Wide eyes and heaving shoulders and plump, kiss-reddened lips open in confusion.

Rey tried not to stagger as she made for her hat.

“It’s, uh, been a pleasure.” Her voice sounded far too squeaky for her own liking. She slammed her hat onto her head and reached for the door. Poe’s shrill cry rang out on the other side.

“Rey,” the Marshal said.

She stopped, hand hovering on the wood and turned back to him. Triumph showed on his face—he knew her name now. _Damn it all._

“We’re not done.” Rey heard the threat in his voice, but also the promise. Or at least she thought she heard promise. It might have been all threat. She chose to remain optimistic.

“I hope not,” she said with a wink. After a kiss like that, she certainly wished they weren’t going to be done, but it didn’t hurt to make sure.

Her eyes darted to the silver watch and in one motion, she lunged, pocketed it, and sprinted through out door, his furious bellow buffeting her all the way to her horse.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter had a passionate make-out session around some jail bars, but prepare to crank up the heat for this second chapter, because it contains the real reason you’ve jumped on this antiquated smut train…  
> Coming up, a mini chapter of exposition, backstory, and inner turmoil!  
> Prepare your bodies.
> 
> Optional auditory mood setting: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b7CJ8QeBeG4 (House of the Rising Sun, Ramin Djawadi, Westworld soundtrack)

Ben Solo glared into the sun as it hovered over the horizon and rammed the black Stetson back into place atop his head. The day had started full and plump with promise, but it had soured faster than a rotting peach.

  
He’d woken with the first light and had hardly been able to sit through his breakfast, because it was going to be the day that he finally caught the Rebel gang. They’d robbed their way from El Paso to Fargo, from Billings to Tucson, and no one even knew what a single one of the group looked like, much less had been able to halt them as they screamed out of a bank or leapt from a train.

  
But Ben was going to do it. He’d learned their methods and knew where they were headed, and all it took was an overnight trip in a boxcar for him to get to Black Rock before they did. He’d had a plan. He’d had his rifle. And he’d had the ridiculous thought that that would be enough.

  
Atop his horse, Ben let out a snort. The big black horse snorted back, and Ben patted his neck.

  
The Rebels’ hoofbeats had hardly faded before the sheriff had come running into his building, seen Ben seething behind bars, and let out a shrieking laugh to rival that of a coyote. By the time Ben escaped both the bars and the biting jokes, the outlaws were specs on the horizon.

  
So he’d kicked his horse into a run and gone after them, and let the dust choke out the final jibes from the sheriff.

  
Once out of town, he’d slowed to a walk and picked out hoofprints and bent blades of grass, and followed them across the dirt and the shrubs. Just like he’d done for the past several months. It seemed to be his life, now.

  
Ben frowned at this. In all the papers and dime novels, excitement, chases, and gunfights filled a sheriff or a marshal’s days. Battles with the natives were as commonplace as the capture of notorious black-hearted outlaws and the rescues of innocent prairie damsels. Most of the dime novel writers were city folks that had never been west of Kentucky, yet the idealized, romantic notions remained.

  
In reality, for every exciting chase or gunfight, there was at least a month of plodding along on a tired horse under a merciless sun. He’d never wanted to battle a native, and after a long time in Navajo and Paiute country in the Four Corners, he even considered a few tribespeople as friends.  
True black-hearted outlaws were far and few between, since most of them had either fallen into the wrong life due to tough circumstances, been forced into it, or been born into it and not known how to leave. There were a few, though: some already put into the ground, and some still out roaming the desert. Those were the ones to worry about, the ones that made even Ben wary.

  
The Gremmin Brothers. The Cole Catcher Gang. The Devil’s Hand.

  
Just thinking about the last group sent a skitter of gooseflesh up Ben’s neck. His boss knew about Ben’s predilection for going after outlaws by himself, and had expressly forbidden him to go after this group. If Snoke found out that he’d done so, in the slim chance that Ben lived through the encounter, he would be sent to a middle of nowhere farm in Ohio for the rest of his life.

  
‘They’ll kill you,’ Snoke had said, ‘and if they find your badge on you, it won’t be a quick death.’

  
Ben shuffled his shoulders. Enough of those thoughts. By last report, the Hand was somewhere in Texas. Far enough to be a distant worry for someone else’s days.

  
Ben automatically leaned backwards as his horse trotted down into a sandy wash. The hoofprints here were as solid and bold as arrows, and the wagon ruts even more so.

  
His horse picked its way nimbly up the wash and then through the patches of scrub and prairie dog holes. While Ben had fumed inside the cell, he had dreaded the thought that he’d run outside and see that his mount had been taken. But perhaps the flight away was so hectic that Tie wasn’t anyone’s focus.  
Ben had originally called him ‘Silencer,’ because of the quiet grace with which the beast constantly held himself. Ben had been proud of the name, and thought that it was nearly as imposing as the horse itself; not only did the animal have the glossiest coat that Ben had ever seen, but he also had a high, arched neck, a long, distinguished nose, and a dusting of feathery hairs on his fetlocks that hinted at some distant draft ancestor. The name wasn’t to stick, however.  
Hux, a fellow marshall, brought his daughter to the stables shortly after Ben’s purchase. She had seen the horse and claimed that it was the same color of the short black tie around Ben’s neck.

  
Ben loathed that man. It wasn’t because Hux was from Ireland and a whole lot of people didn’t like the Irish other than for the fact that they were Irish; it was because Hux was a pompous prick—which was an utterly justifiable reason for hatred, Ben thought. Hux’s daughter was a different matter. Fay was a spritely girl of four with ginger ringlets, red cheeks the size of apples, and a toothy smile that could win over the most heartless criminal.

  
“Tie!” she had shouted when she’d seen Ben’s horse. “It’s Mist’r Ben’s tie!”

  
After that, he couldn’t bring himself to call the horse anything else. Besides, ‘Whoa there, Tie,’ was much easier to say.

  
A rabbit hurtled out of the brush and Tie shied and tossed his head. Ben murmured calming words and stroked the heavy neck, but when his stomach growled with the fierceness of a lion, Tie shied again.

  
Ben bit back a curse. He’d been so filled with adrenaline and vinegar as he’d raced out of the sheriff’s building that he’d nearly forgotten his hat. Only after he’d been riding for several hours did he realize that he had forgotten his satchel of food. The hard biscuits, tins of beans, apples, and jerky were probably going to good use in the sheriff’s gut.

  
After a long look at the horizon, Ben pulled Tie to a stop at a large clump of shrubbery and slid from the saddle. Not much sunlight remained, and he wanted to be able to see his dinner.

  
Dirt and rocks crunched under his boots and he held his rifle in a loose grip. When he saw movement in the distance, he dropped to one knee and raised the gun. A grey blur raced from one patch of cover to the next. It was the rabbit from earlier, or perhaps one of its relatives. Ben hardly breathed. He could see the tip of one ear peeking out from behind a cactus. It hopped and sniffed the air, then took off across the bare land. Ben pulled the trigger. It only took one shot. It had always only taken one shot.

  
After he’d cleaned the grease from his fingers, rubbed Tie down with a clump of scrubby grass, and stomped out the fire, he rummaged through his saddlebags. His dirty fingers pushed aside a thick cake of soap (his one vanity on these long trips, in the rare event of a clean stream) and a belt of spare bullets before pulling out a stubby pencil and leather-bound notebook. He crossed to his bedroll and leaned against the saddle set out at the head. The thought crossed his mind that he should write a quick note to his superior, telling Snoke that found the Rebels, and had even seen the face of one, and that he was sure he’d be bringing them in soon.

  
But Snoke was back in his Wichita office, and Ben was days away from any place where he could drop a letter, so the letter stayed unwritten. Besides, he had a ‘wanted’ poster to illustrate.

  
He untied the thin, leather string that kept the book from flapping open and flipped through pages of hastily scrawled notes, dates, and sketches of landscapes. Tie was on nearly every page: detailed studies of hooves; a flicked-back ear; a long, convex profile against a cross hatched background. On one thick sheet, an unsent letter about stolen cattle was punctuated by a small doodle of Tie prancing across one paragraph, a long leg outstretched and neck bent in a royal arch.  
‘You love that horse more than you’ll love any woman,’ Hux had told him once. He’d had a superior sneer on his pale face and it had made Ben want to punch the man in the gut. But one didn’t punch one’s fellow marshal in the middle of a church. It would have offended someone, he was certain of it.

  
‘Maybe,’ was all that Ben said in response.

  
His pencil scratched at the paper. Tie lifted his head and looked back at him, almost as if he knew he was being studied. The horse blew out in a noisy rush, tossed his glossy mane, and pawed at the dirt.

  
“Yeah,” Ben said to him. “You’re pretty. Get over it.”

  
Tie lifted his tail and released a long, squealing bout of gas.

  
Ben rolled his eyes.

  
He would freely admit that he didn’t know much about love. But he did know about admiration and trust, and yeah, even if it meant that he was making a fool out of himself in front of his idiotic fellow employee, he’d say that he admired and trusted his horse. His pretty, currently gassy horse.  
Of course, it did help that Tie was imposing as hell. There was just something about a tall, scarred man dressed in black sitting on a large, black horse. When that man said something, you listened.

  
His pencil drifted over to the next blank page. Maybe that’s what he’d done wrong back in Black Rock. He hadn’t been on his horse.  
A heart-shaped face took shape under the graphite, and he added in her features with little effort: high dark brows, wide-set eyes, lips lifted in a saucy smirk, a thin scar making a divot on one cheekbone.

  
He’d been doing an excellent job of keeping his mind on his duty, but as he added in the details of her face—a wisp of brown hair curling past her ear, the long fringe of her eyelashes—his mind began to sneak of out of his control and float back to that afternoon.

  
Ben had expected a burly crew of men as thick and toughened as old leather. When he’d taken off that bandana, the look of her had blindsided him. He’d called her a ‘girl.’ Multiple times, in fact. She was scrawny, and seemed too small for her clothes, and when she had spoken from within the jail cell, her voice seemed even smaller.

  
Only when he’d been the one staring out of the jail cell did he realize how wrong he had been. He couldn’t help but stare at the unabashed way she’d chugged his coffee, at the strong muscles in her arms as she’d shucked her own shirt for his, at the rosy nipples barely showing through the thin fabric of her undershirt.  
The memory made Ben swallow and his pencil hovered frozen over the paper.

  
No one had bested him like that before. Ever. She’d pulled him in with her act and then flipped the situation on its ass and he just had to respect a woman who could pull off a stunt like that, even if it was to his disadvantage. It was impressive—no, _she_ was impressive. Smart, and quick, and capable.

  
And a hell of a kisser.

  
Ben shifted uncomfortably against his saddle and against the sudden tightness in his groin.

  
God-fucking-damn-it.

  
Ben had kissed a woman before. More than once, even. He knew how a woman’s breast felt in his palm and how her slick wetness felt around his fingers. He’d participated in the kind of sexual encounter after which he couldn’t think or stand or walk, and neither could she.

  
A hasty kiss where iron bars dug into his cheeks and his hips and his chest wasn’t the best he’d ever had, not by far, but for some reason he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Couldn’t get her out of his mind.

  
He most definitely need to do so. She was an outlaw. She had committed more crimes than he could count on both hands: four of which had happened just today. (Maybe three, since he didn’t know if she was the one who had blown up the outhouse on the way out of town and splattered excrement over the first group who tried to follow them, but he was positive that outhouses didn’t blow up themselves, no matter how much chili their users had eaten.)

  
So Ben shouldn’t think about how her lips had felt, or how the soft skin of her stomach had been so warm against his hand, or how he had suddenly snapped out of his usual restraint and kissed her in return. He most certainly shouldn’t think about how he had wanted to do so much more through the bars, because they had been in a sheriff’s building, and she had given him a lump on his forehead that still smarted, and months earlier, her gang had given him an explosion and a sharp shard of a whiskey bottle to the face (and neck, and chest). He rubbed at the raised line of skin on his cheek absentmindedly. It wasn’t as harsh and visceral as it had been, but from the looks of passers-by, it was still mighty alarming.

  
She was an outlaw.

  
_Outlaw, outlaw, outlaw,_ echoed the crickets.

  
He was a marshal.

  
_Marshal, marshal, marshal,_ the breeze whispered.

  
“Rey,” Ben said in a hush to the empty sky.

  
The pencil lay forgotten within the folded notebook.

  
Why on Earth had he kissed her back? And, more importantly, why hadn’t she shot him dead once she’d gotten her revolvers?

  
Ben could bullshit answers to both of those questions, but the honest truth was that he didn’t know, and it was making the lump on his forehead hurt to try and figure them out. He had a job to do, and then he would finish the job, and then he would get paid, and then the dusty Western roads would be a little safer for a while.

  
The memory suddenly burst upon him of the sound of her soft moan and how it had vibrated against his mouth.

  
Ben clenched his fists. He wouldn’t think about her. He wouldn’t think about her under his hands or under his mouth or under his body. He wouldn’t think about what would happen when he caught up to her.

  
Well, he would take his watch back, for one.

  
The thought instantly poured cold water over his heated skin. That watch. That damned watch with its cracked face and frozen hands. It hadn’t worked since the day his father had died; something inside had broken then, and he’d kept it that way as a reminder. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if something inside him had broken that day, too. Ben brushed away the guilt that always accompanied these thoughts, for there was no need to feel it. He’d done the right thing. The just thing. The lawful thing.

  
Snoke had always told him as such, and Ben trusted the grizzled, old man when he’d said so. After Ben had left home —if it could be called that—Snoke had taken Ben under his supervision. He would be a great lawman one day, Snoke was sure of it. He only had to let go of the past.

  
The sun was nearly gone, and it beamed desperate rays of gold across the ruddy dirt and the jagged mesas. Ben had been following the Rebels south before Black Rock, hoping to catch them before they made it to Mexico, but today they’d started to drift east. Maybe now that they knew he was on their tail, they were trying to lose him.

  
Ben scoffed at that. He’d tracked fugitives over Moab slickrock and through New Mexico streams and across the wide, tawny plains. He’d catch up to the Rebels soon enough.

  
He stared at the sunset until it dissolved into twilight, and then when the last drop of light faded, he lay back and watched the stars for a long while before he blocked them out with his hat and drifted into a hazy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your patience, all you readers and subscribers and smut-train riders! If this work doesn’t update frequently with extra-long chapters, it isn’t because I’ve grown bored with it or have given up; I have seven chapters planned and sketched out at the moment, and more percolating, and I have always finished works on this site. (‘But wait,’ you may say, ‘you only have two finished works on this site.’ To which I say, ‘Good point,’ and then go and take a nap.)  
> Side note, I recently made a Tumblr! (Inmyownidiom, same profile picture as here.) I have no idea what to do with it, so any advice is much appreciated.  
> I feel like Tumblr is kind of like my appendix; it exists in the world and it seems to be functioning correctly, but I couldn’t tell you how it works or what it’s currently doing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optional auditory mood setting: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RDPNjIbFGsI (Hellfire, Barns Courtney)

 

The shirt still smelled like him. Even after hours of the wind tearing through it as they had galloped across the desert, even with dirt sticking to the patches where her sweat had soaked it through, even with the evening’s campfire smoke thick in the air.

They’d ridden all day. When foam covered the horses’ flanks, they had walked, and when both human and beast could hardly keep themselves moving, the gang had collapsed into the dirt while the evening settled heavy hands on the mesas and buttes. A wagon wasn’t exactly a stealthy mode of transport, and the mules that pulled them were only made more ornery by the long haul. It had taken four sets of hands to pull the creatures through thick brush and up a high hill to camp. Watchful eyes looked out across the shrubs and valleys, but they lacked true concern. No one followed them out this far. Usually, the mad chase away from a town tired out the chaser’s horses just enough for them to give up and leave the chasing to someone else.

Someone like U.S. Marshal Ben…er...Something. She should probably know his last name, if he was to be hunting them. It would be the polite thing.

Campfire embers winked out amongst flickering stars and Rey watched the firelit expressions of her friends as she told them they’d been followed since Denver. She didn’t give specifics, other than she’d heard that it was a marshal, and left out all of the details of the jail cell and how she’d escaped. If any of them knew that her face had been seen, they’d only worry, and there was no need in doing so when no one could do anything about it now.

Poe had flicked the collar of her shirt, white and crisp from the wash.

“Get this while you did your time?” he’d asked.

“Why do you wanna know?” she’d said. “I’m not sharing it.” Mock outrage when he’d made a comment about how at least she smelled better, and then the shirt was forgotten.

They’d crowded around the flames and eaten Maz’s latest concoction: biscuits drenched in some kind of gravy that Rey’d never tasted before. After eating it, she hadn’t wanted to taste it ever again. Maz was originally from the Bayou and always claimed that she was so accustomed to making gumbo and jambalaya and fried catfish that the desert faire confounded her culinary habits. Once, she’d cooked up a rattlesnake. It might have tasted good without all of the paprika.

The biscuits tonight had been tasty, though: buttery and soft with just the right amount of crunch. Rey’d eaten four (three without the gravy) before settling BeeBee in for the night and nestling into her bedroll.

Her stomach gave a satisfied rumble as she stared up at the stars. An orchestra of crickets sawed a slow, tuneless melody and a coyote yipped off in the distance. Without thinking, she lifted the shirt’s collar to her nose again and breathed deep.

Rey was no virgin; she hadn’t been for a while. She’d kissed and groped and been kissed and groped in turn. Sex was fun, and felt nice, but had always been rushed. She’d enjoyed it, for the brief moment it had lasted; always in the end she had felt like she’d just been rutted like a mare. There had never been any attachment on her end, so she hadn’t minded each time when the man had pulled out and fastened his pants and said a few panted words and they’d gone their separate ways.

But since the jail cell, she felt as if she was in uncharted territory.

Because _that_ had been something else entirely.

‘ _We’re not done_.’

The memory of his deep voice rumbling those words shot straight down her spine and coiled low in her belly.

A quick look around camp didn’t reveal anyone moving in the silver moonlight. Either Artoo or Finn would be up keeping watch, since tonight was their turn, but they’d be farther from the camp.

Rey slid her hand down into the front of her pants and flung the gate on her imagination wide open.

What if a jail cell hadn’t hobbled that kiss? Possibilities bloomed in her mind like morning glories, bright and swift. She pressed a finger against her clitoris and pictured the low set of his brow, the sharp edge of his jaw, the black glint of his eyes. Her back arched, and it brushed her—no, _his —_shirt against the bedroll and the smell of him hit her with a wallop: leather, earth, sweat, a hint of tobacco, the lye and hint of citrus from his soap.

His hair would be soft, she was certain. It would be thick around her fingers and would tickle her face and her breasts.

She probably shouldn’t be touching herself to the idea of a man intent on putting her in a cell or in a noose, but somehow, that forbidden aspect made her pulse race even faster.

With how he’d kissed, she guessed he’d fuck the same way: demanding and intense and urgent. She rubbed her fingers faster and heat bloomed between her thighs. He’d be the kind to grab her hips with his giant hands, push her down against his thrusts with a palm on her shoulder, bend her against the wall and drive into her until he came with a low, pained shout.

She slipped one of her fingers inside and bit her lip to stifle her moan. Would he be the sort to want to use his hand with her? Apparently those types of men existed somewhere in the world, the kind who reveled in the time spent in preparation, but Rey’d never encountered the like.

Maybe...maybe Marshal Ben would be one of those men. Maybe he’d ease a finger into her. Maybe he’d use _two_ fingers. They’d stretch her and fill her in a way that her own small fingers had never been able to do properly, and she’d cover his palm with her wetness and he’d love every bit of it.

That was the thought sent her off. Her body tensed and she sucked in a small breath as the world froze for just a second, and then her limbs went slack.

Her eyelids felt heavy as lead and right before they closed, she had the fleeting thought that somewhere out there, he was also staring up at the same stars.

 

* * *

 

The Rebels stopped the next day at the edge of a shallow creek and as people stretched and horses grazed on wisps of dried grass, Rey filled her canteen upstream from BeeBee’s slurping muzzle. Cottonwood trees rustled above her head and cicadas droned in the afternoon heat.

She always thought it was funny how terminology changed the farther south you got. Up north, ‘rivers’ were wider than the main road of a town and so deep you couldn’t ford them in the spring. This trickling body of water she currently drank from, this four-foot-wide tangle of shrubs, rocks, and borderline brackish water, wouldn’t even warrant a name in Montana, but gave New Mexico’s Rio Puerco stiff competition.

Rey sat on a rock a ways upstream when the others climbed out of the small depression the creek had made, and pulled the silver watch from her pants pocket, keeping it low so the glare wouldn’t shine out to any of her group. If they saw it, they’d only ask questions, and she hadn’t decided on a good enough lie yet.

It was a finely-made watch, nicer than anything Rey had ever owned. She’d stolen a fair few of them, but had always ended up selling them for the cash to put food in her belly and grain in BeeBee’s belly. The script on the back had been done in a slanted, swooping hand; the engraving was so fine she could hardly feel it under her thumb.

Gravel crunched behind her and she spun around, fighting the childish impulse to shove the watch back into her pocket.

Rey expected Poe’s sardonic smirk or Finn’s curious stare, but instead saw the face of General Organa, pale with shock as she stared at the watch in Rey’s fingers.

“Where did you get that?”

Thinking back, Rey didn’t remember the last time she had talked to the general one-on-one, and God, she didn’t even know the woman’s first name. She was on the shorter side of short, and not exactly the most spry, but hell if her very presence didn’t intimidate the shit out of Rey at the moment.

Rey felt the words tumble out of her.

“I stole it off the marshal in Black Rock.”

The general visibly started, and Rey felt a queasy uneasiness bloom in her gut.

“The one’s been following us?”

Rey nodded. The watch felt hot in her hand, like a coal she’d snatched from a fire.

“Who else has seen it?” the general said. Her voice was tight and her hands clenched each other in front of her waist.

“N-no one,” Rey stuttered, fear and confusion battling within her.

The general’s nostrils flared. “Keep it that way.” She turned to walk away, then spun back.

“It was stupid of you, Rey, real stupid.”

Rey opened her mouth to ask why, try and get some information, _any_ information out of the older woman, but the general strode out of the creek bed to the horses with a swiftness Rey had never seen before and called for Chewie with a bellow that belied her stature.

Rey stared after her for a moment and then looked down at the watch as if it held any of the answers. It didn’t. She shoved it into her pocket.

BeeBee gave a low nicker and pawed at the ground, and Rey patted him halfheartedly on the nose.

She felt ashamed and angry and foolish, like a reprimanded child. What in the hell was so terrible about a stolen watch? Rey had stolen dozens of them, and none had ever made the leader of their group snap at her as if she’d yanked the ring off of a dead grandmother.

The cuff of her jacket was crusted with dried sweat and Rey rubbed it between her fingers. It crackled, salt crystals floating down to the cloudy water.

The marshal would have followed them whether or not Rey had stolen one of his personal effects, so it wasn’t as if it was by her action alone that they were being chased.

Rey sent a quick glare up at the woman’s back. In four years of being with the group, she’d been chastised, scolded, and barked at, but never before had it been with honest-to-God anger. If the Rebels were Rey’s family, the general was the warm matriarch of it all. Jesus, sometimes Rey even thought of the general with more fondness than her own mother—or, at least the vague memory of her own mother.

 _‘I joined of my own volition,_ ’ she had told the marshal.

It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. She hadn’t gone _looking_ for an outlaw gang to join.

Rey had never been the most patient person, but when she returned to her family’s empty farmstead, she had given it an honest effort for as long as she could. She’d gathered eggs and beheaded chickens, grown wheat and eaten loaf after loaf of burned, gamey bread, and heaved up buckets of mildewed water from a crumbling well. She had an old, creaking gun and practiced with it every day—rationing her bullets, only allowing herself two per session.  Life had been on the edge of doable for a long while. Then, the chickens sickened and died, the crops blighted, and the well collapsed.

When she’d dragged the mule into town to try and barter whatever food she could, the bony animal hadn’t made it to the edge of town before it fell into the dirt.

 _‘I need a job,_ ’ she’d begged the clerk behind the grocery counter. He’d had a thick, greasy mustache and a paunchy stomach. A set of twin Smith and Wesson revolvers lay in a belt on the back table, looking like they’d gone months without being buckled onto his person. She’d chosen to look at them instead of him while his leer traveled over her.

‘ _Got a good one for you,’_ he’d said, and went into great detail about it.

The feeling of her creaky gun handle connecting with his temple had been exhilarating beyond belief, and the sound of his money jangling in her pockets as she ran from the shop had been even better. She’d taken the Smith and Wessons, although she preferred to think that she’d liberated them from a life of dust and boredom.

Rey had done small jobs at first: a wallet here, a change purse there, a package of bullets whenever possible. Soon she had enough money to buy a slow, swaybacked horse, and enough shooting practice to hit a line of tin cans off a fence, and on one fateful day, took it upon herself to do her own stagecoach robbery.

Sometimes, she thought about what would have happened if someone else had been in that coach. Those thoughts typically ended with her shot through the chest or starving in the dirt.

General Organa had only raised an eyebrow at the quaver in Rey’s voice and the fact that she’d used ‘please’ and ‘ma’am’ more than once. One offer of food later, and Rey was riding alongside the general (in a coach later admitted to have been stolen) with a swarthy handsome man, and a short, wrinkled woman with skin dark as a nut.

Poe and Maz had stared at Rey as she’d inhaled the food.

‘ _I run a gang,_ ’ the general had said. ‘ _I think you’d do well in it.’_

Through the years, General Organa had been caring and stern, yet aloof. Now, though, her words made irritation buzz in Rey’s ears.

There were times for stewing, and there were times for not stewing, and right now, Rey decided on the latter. By the general’s reaction, Rey would bet money on the fact that she knew exactly who the watch belonged to. And she wanted to know more.

She stood with a suddenness that made BeeBee prance away from her and toss his head, then grabbed the reata attached to his halter. Together, they walked up slope of the dusty bank and towards the wagon, all the while Rey mulled over questions and ways to phrase, “What in the hell do you know about Marshal Ben?” that didn’t sound petulant (or silly, because she still didn’t know his last name).

When she saw the general, her feet stilled.

Chewie was packing two sets of saddlebags while General Organa hurriedly saddled her horse. Normally, she rode in the wagon and let her horse be led behind. Rey had heard more than once from Poe that the general strongly disliked riding and only did so if there was no other option. Those saddlebags hanging down from her horse’s withers were awful bulging, too.

Rey left BeeBee behind her as she ran to Chewie and the general.

“What are you doing?” She couldn’t keep the contempt out of her voice, even though it was rude, even though it was not something one said to one’s superior.

The general straightened and stared at Rey with hard, brown eyes.

“Chewie and I need to head away for a little while.”

Rey bit her lip. “You’re running.”

General Organa pinched her lips at the accusation but didn’t speak.

“You found out who’s been following us, and it scares you, so you’re running away.”

 _She’s not running,_ said a voice deep within Rey. _She’s leaving. She’s leaving_ you _because of what you did._ Old memories bubbled beneath the surface of her skin. Her eyes prickled and she blinked rapidly to keep the tears from coming.

The general peered at Rey closely for a moment. “Let’s sit a moment, shall we?” General Organa walked to the shade of a cottonwood tree and Rey followed like a cowed cattle dog.

Rey gripped her elbow with one hand and stood awkwardly as the general looked back towards the group and took a deep breath.

“I know what this looks like to you.” Her brown eyes snapped to Rey and Rey tried not to wither. “We’re not running. Chewie and I are going to…” she paused and pursed her lips, seeming to think intensely on something.

“Did I ever tell you about my husband?”

Rey started at the sudden question. “No,” she said. “You haven’t.”

“But you know about him?”

There was a look on the general’s face, a bit of a raised brow and a bit of a smirk that said she knew gossip in the Rebels happened frequently and a lot of it had been about her.

Rey nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “He died. Um, got shot. Robbery gone wrong.”

The general’s smile was bitter. “That’s the short of it, I suppose. No one told you what happened?”

“No, ma’am,” Rey said. God, she was confused. What in the hell did the general’s dead husband have to do with _anything_?

General Organa spied a toppled cottonwood, brushed the trunk with a gloved hand, and settled onto it. She pursed her lips again and looked out at the rolling plains as if picking out her thoughts from the landscape. Short juniper trees and prickly pear speckled the low hills.

“I was an outlaw long before the Rebels were a gang,” she started.

Rey wasn’t quite comfortable enough with the general to sit on the cottonwood trunk alongside her, nor self-flagellating enough to sit in the dirt at her feet, so she instead leaned against the rough bark of another tree.

“For years it had been Han, Chewie, my brother, and myself,” she continued. “We robbed stagecoaches and banks across the West and were…” A small smile tweaked her mouth. “We were thick as thieves.

“When Han and I married and had a son, we put everything on pause. No more stealing, no more guns. For the babe, you see. We wanted him to be safe. I tried to settle down and have an ordinary life. I learned how to farm, and milk cows, and hack wheat.”

General Organa’s expression twisted into one of disgust. “It was awful. Needless to say, it hadn’t been enough. When the boy was fifteen, we started our old life up again, just me and Han and the boy.” She gazed up at the blue sky through the leaves. “Boy was a natural with a rifle. Could hit a coin in the air at twenty paces, but he couldn’t bring himself to threaten anyone with it. Wanted something else with his life. I could see it in his eyes, when we’d ride into a town: it wasn’t him. Didn’t take long for him to leave. When he was seventeen, he rode off in the middle of the night. We didn’t hear anything from him for years, but rumors trickled back that he’d joined the law.”

Rey pulled the watch from her pocket and stared down at it, dread forming a cold lump in her stomach. She swallowed and it sounded so loud she could swear that the general heard it. Of course the general recognized the timepiece; any mother would know her own son’s watch with just a cursory glance.

General Organa gestured at the heavy silver in Rey’s hands.

“Han gave it to him. Ben refused to take it. He thought it had been stolen, but Han had bought it from a jewelers and paid for the engraving.” She let out dry laugh. “It was all from stolen gold, but that wasn’t the point. Ben didn’t want it. He must have taken it after the…”

The general trailed off and when Rey looked up at her, she had her hands palm-up in her lap and gazed down at them, seeing something that Rey couldn’t.

“After the what?” Rey encouraged.

General Organa let out a heavy sigh, closed her hands into fists, and squinted at the sun. Her jaw worked, then she shook her head and rose to her feet.

“Han was killed in a shootout with the law during a robbery.” Her expression turned pained, weary. “He was shot by a desperate young man who would do _anything_ to be a U.S. Marshal.”

The cold lump of dread in Rey’s stomach had slowly been growing, and now it plummeted to the ground. She felt sick, remembering how she had kissed him, how last night she’d thought of him in such an intimate fashion. Her skin prickled with sweat and her hands felt too heavy.

Life wasn’t permanent; Rey knew this well. If age didn’t cut short familial ties, then illness, a stray bullet, a hidden rattlesnake, or a spooked horse would do it just as easy. But to have that bond and that love and choose to shrug it off like an old blanket? To _murder_ it?

Monstrous.

Rey felt her dread transform into something stronger, something harder. She wanted Marshal Ben to catch up to them. Rey had never relished someone else’s death before, but she was sure this would be the first.

The general gave Rey a hard look. “I hope you know what it is that’s started.”

Rey’s sweat-slicked fingers slipped around the watch, and she dumped it into her jacket pocket. It pressed into her ribs like a knife.

“Where are you going?” Rey said.

“Gotta find my brother. Haven’t seen him in too long. He’ll want to know everything that’s happened.” She tightened the gun belt around her waist. “You all ride hard. Don’t worry about the goods or the gold for a while now, hear? Look after your own hides. You’re all family.” She shifted her feet and gave the rag-tag group of people a soft smile. “Sometimes the family you find is better than the family you leave behind.”

 _I wouldn’t know,_  Rey thought, instead saying, “I’ll keep a weather eye out, General.”

The general gave Rey a dark-eyed searching stare that struck her with how intently it reminded her of the marshal’s.

“It’s Leia,” the general said.

Rey didn’t move from the shade as Chewie and Leia mounted and rode away into the dust.

Perhaps this was Leia’s way of protecting them. The marshal didn’t know that the Rebels were being led by his mother. Like this, without her, they were just another gang to round up and take to the noose or to the bars.

No bad blood here, just...blood, as red and gritty as the dirt they’d ridden out of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, dear reader, thank you for your patience with the glacial speed of my writing. It’s inching along and slowly carving out a valley or something, and hopefully there aren’t too many crevasses and no one’s gotten snow-blindness yet. The smut train chugs along over it, because in my world, you can build railroad tracks on a constantly shifting glacier and not worry about metaphors getting too out of control and wildly confusing everyone.  
> Quick poll: this fic hasn’t been on the same level of humor/silliness as my other writings. What do you--sorry, y’all--think?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optional (but encouraged) auditory mood setting: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQTCS6aWRSc (God’s Gonna Cut You Down, Johnny Cash)

 

 

It hadn’t been hard for Ben to catch up to them, and when he did, it had been even easier to stay just out of sight. For two nights now, he’d seen their wagon on the horizon and the flicker of their campsite against the empty black of the sky. He hadn’t made a fire of his own; if he could see theirs, they would have been able to see his, and he wanted to keep his presence hidden. From the lack of caution and speed of their travel, it didn’t seem as if they knew he was following.

That, or they didn’t care.

One morning he’d peered through his binoculars and seen that there were suddenly two fewer horses. He couldn’t be sure though, since at this distance it was difficult to get a solid read on their numbers. Still, Rey’s statement of eleven definitely seemed to be an overestimate.

Ben lay on his stomach behind some yellowing sage, and the dirt shifted underneath his forearms as he looked at the group now. They’d stopped sometime in early evening and were probably starting to set up camp. Sounds came to him over the brush: the clink of bridles, a bark of laughter, a whinny. Out-of-focus heads bobbed in and out of view in his binoculars, and Ben cranked on the knob, then muttered biting insults as it jammed. The binoculars had been the perfect size to fit in his saddlebags, yet sand and dirt seemed almost magnetically drawn to them.

Someone in the group hooted with laughter. If Ben were the betting type, he’d wager that they were pouring over maps and planning their next heist. That’s what Snoke had taught him: once an outlaw, always an outlaw. Ben had been lucky, Snoke had always said. He had broken free of the degenerate lifestyle before it had snared him by the throat.

A grasshopper flung itself against Ben’s shoulder and he flicked it off into the brush, then wiped the sweat from where the binoculars had rested on his nose.

God, it was hot. And it wasn’t even technically summer yet.

Ben grumbled a curse at New Mexico, for its cloudless, infinite blue sky that let the sun blast right on down to someone who really liked wearing black. He only had himself to blame, he knew. It wasn’t the sun’s fault or the territory’s fault. He’d curse it anyway.

Tie snorted and Ben turned out of habit, but the horse was secured behind a low hill.

Shouts pulled Ben’s attention back to the Rebel gang. Angry shouts. Through the lenses, he could see hands thrown up in the air and fists on hips.

One figure with shoulder-length brown hair and a jacket too large for her shoulders started to walk away from the group and up the hill Ben lay alongside. Someone shouted after her, and another person started to follow, but she flapped an arm and continued by herself.

Ben rose slowly and shook out the stiffness in his shoulders. His rifle was full, as were the chambers in his Colt six-shooter. The pistol was an old army make, and was given to him when he first received his badge. It was more of a backup for his Winchester than anything else.

A deep breath, and he began to ascend the hill as well.

He had good reasons why he went after her.

Reasons that had everything to do with logic and wanting to apprehend a criminal, and nothing at all to do with wanting to see how accurately he’d scribbled her portrait. Nothing at all to do with wondering what color her eyes were. Nothing at all to do with needing to know the answer to the question that had wriggling around inside his skull for days:

What kind of murderous outlaw would choose not to shoot a caged marshal?

Snoke’s graveled voice sounded from Ben’s memories.

 _‘The lawless will tear you limb from limb if they can._ ’ He and Snoke had been sitting on the front steps of the Sheriff’s office in Wichita. It had been dark, and the only light came from a few lanterns strung in front of buildings and candles that burned in the occasional window.

The old man had expelled a stream of dip at a stray cat with startling accuracy. _‘The moment that you think an outlaw is anything more than a beast to be hunted and put down, the moment you let down your guard, that’s the moment that’ll kill you._ ’

This wasn’t that moment. Definitely not.

Ben still followed her.

They were heading up the side of the sloping hill, and she climbed with strong and steady legs. Yucca flowers jutted up like oversized strings of popped corn, and clumps of blue grama rustled in the breeze. The soft dirt hardly sounded under Ben’s boots. After a while, he stopped worrying about keeping quiet. They were far enough from her group that he could no longer hear even the loudest laugh.

Rey stopped in the scant shade of a juniper and bent to pick up a stick of dried cholla. Although her pants were loose, they tightened across the round curves of her hindquarters.

Ben didn’t want to stare, but somehow he couldn’t stop himself. He also tried not to think about the last time he’d been alone with her, but was unsuccessful with that, too.

He wasn’t more than twenty paces from her when she lifted the stick as if weighing it, then rose and hurled it into the desert with a desperate yell.

He was an idiot, to do this. He was an idiot to follow her, even if she was by herself; he was an idiot to keep walking towards a woman who just screamed for no reason; he was an idiot to get within arm’s reach of an armed outlaw.

A stick of cholla, one that Ben hadn’t seen, crunched underneath his boot and it blasted through him like an explosion.

He expected her to whirl around and send a bullet through his chest, but she only heaved a sigh under that too-large jacket and tipped her head back to the sky.

“I don’t want to talk, Finn.”

Ben blinked. He’d been replaying her voice in his head over and over, repeating what she’d said in that sheriff’s building and how she’d said it, but her accent still managed to startle him. If he’d heard it without seeing her, she could pass for a proper English lady whose most pressing problem was the crispiness of her scones. He wished that he could know where she came from, what had brought her here, who had taught her to speak like that.

Also, who the Hell was _Finn_?

Ben had been quiet for too long, and she turned to him with a look of frustration.

Time slowed.

So he’d gotten her eyes right: almond and slightly tipped up at the sides. Her nose, too. The strong arch of her brows, and the fine edge of her jaw. The crease on her forehead as she realized that this ‘Finn’ person was not the man currently staring at her.

 _Goddammit_.

He saw each of her expressions as they shifted across her face: frustration to alarm, alarm to recognition, recognition to fury.

Fury?

“You!” The word nearly dripped with venom.

She reached to one of the revolvers at her side and pulled it out, but Ben was close enough to reach her in a single stride. He swung the butt of his Winchester against the barrel of her gun, and her weapon spun through the air before landing against another juniper.

Rey’s other hand flashed down to her second revolver so fast that it reminded Ben of a snake’s strike.

He dropped his rifle, grabbed her wrist before she could raise the gun, and twisted. Her revolver fell to the ground with a thud. When she cried out, guilt nearly made him release her arm, and in the second he took to second-guess the tightness of his grip, she swung her free fist into his jaw. Pain flared in his face, nearly blinding him.

“Jesus,” Ben bit out. “I’m not trying to—”

The punch to his diaphragm cut off the rest. He hadn’t been sure how he’d finish that sentence, anyway.

I’m not trying to...capture you? Arrest you? Take you in? Get my watch back? He couldn’t say any of that, since it was all true.

He managed to doge her third punch, and instead of taking a mean hook to the nose, her fist skimmed his hair.

Ben had been in brawls. He’d knocked men clean off their feet, and then been knocked clean off of his. He had learned through experience the best way to break a man’s nose and how to use his forearm to push a meaty fist off course so it slammed into a wall instead of into himself. Ben knew how to use his weight to throw a more rotund man off balance, how to grapple an obstinate blacksmith, and how to wrestle a drunken cattle driver off his horse.

In all of his years as a marshal, no one had ever taught him how to subdue a nine-stone woman.

Right now, he sure as Hell wished that someone had done so.  

He grabbed her free wrist as she pulled it back from yet another swift punch, swept a leg at the backs of her ankles, and fell to the ground on top of her.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Ben managed. It came out as more of a gasp, since her knee had just impacted his belly.

“Horseshit!”

With a grunt of frustration, Ben pinned her arms by her head and settled his weight over her legs.

“I’m getting close to doing so, though,” he muttered, shifting to keep her pinned while she fruitlessly strained underneath him.

They were both breathing heavily, and Rey glared up at him as her shoulders heaved. She had green in her eyes. And freckles on her nose. The small scar on her cheekbone was exactly as he remembered it. She wasn’t a small-bodied woman, but he still felt enormous and ungainly above her.

He’d lost his hat, he thought in passing.

What on Earth had he done since they’d last met? She’d been so, well, amenable before. He hated to admit it, but part of him (and he knew exactly which part) had wondered if they would continue where they’d left off, and this time there wouldn’t be any bars. It had been a blockheaded, lustful thought. Then again, it had come from the part of his anatomy that was prone to blockheaded and lustful thoughts.

Rey twisted her legs in a sudden, vicious movement and yanked them out from underneath Ben. Maybe she was hoping to slam a bootheel into his back or squeeze his torso until he popped, but without warning, Ben’s hips were pressed solidly against Rey’s hips, and her thighs cradled him in a way that seemed much too _right_ for the current situation.

Ben sucked in a sharp breath and underneath him, felt Rey do the same.

His gaze drifted to her mouth and he found himself remembering the way she’d tasted, the feel of her skin, the smell of sunshine and sweat, and Hellfire if it didn’t make him ache.

The rage had mostly disappeared from her face and she was staring at his own mouth. She licked her lips and they parted every so slightly, and when their eyes met, he saw that her pupils had gone wide, which didn’t make much sense; although the sun was nearing the horizon, it was still awfully bright.

With a jolt, Ben realized that he was dipping his head closer to her, not even realizing it, and he froze. Swallowed.

“Where’s my timepiece?” He croaked, his voice sounding like he’d gone weeks without water.

Impossible as it seemed, her glare returned more powerful than before and her lips twisted into something resembling a snarl.

“Go on and search for it, Marshal.”

Dear God in Heaven, now he was imagining doing exactly that, down to the motions it would take for him to unbutton his shirt (for she was still wearing it, and, for a reason he couldn’t put a name to, it pleased him greatly), and right as he wondered how her skin would feel as he slid his fingers past the waistband of her trousers, she headbutted him.

Ben reared back with a shout of pain and his vision flashed white. Her forehead had connected with the ridge above his right eye—still tender from its run-in with iron bars. It took everything in him not to whimper. In an instant, Rey flipped him to his back, straddling him, and snatched her revolver from the dirt. Ben whipped his own Colt from the holster at his waist and aimed it at her heart at the same moment that she aimed at his.

Their breathing was harsh against the desert’s silence. Ben wondered when she was going to shoot him, then noticed that she hadn’t pulled back the hammer and her finger was off the trigger. Before he could think too much on that, he realized that he was doing the same.

If she wasn’t going to shoot him, were they to stay like this? Her strong legs rested alongside his hips, and her body was warm against his groin. The top button of her—his...whatever—shirt had come undone and he could see a dusting of soil on the hollow between her collarbones. Ben willed himself to think of awful things, like smallpox, or Hux, because nothing ruined a standoff faster than an inopportune erection.

“How could you?” Rey’s words were bitten out like they had barbs.

“How could I what?” Ben said. “Follow you? Easily, it turns out.”

He almost missed it, but her hand trembled around the gun.

“How could…” Rey gritted her teeth and her hand trembled again. “You killed him!”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Your father!” Her voice cracked partway through.

Ice flooded through Ben’s limbs. “Who told you about that?” he said, his voice low and tight.

Rey brought her other hand up to the gun. “Who told me about it doesn’t change that you did it.”

Anger and grief churned together until he felt like he was going to burst.

“I had to!” Ben snapped.

Rey scrambled off of him, revolver now aimed at his gut. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“Bull, you had to.” She wiped the cuff of her sleeve across her mouth. “He was your father. He—”

“He had taken a group of people hostage inside a bank!” Ben yelled over her, then instantly snapped his mouth shut. For the love of Pete, he was justifying his actions to a _robber._

Rey flinched. “What?” She was aiming at his knee.

Ben pulled himself to his feet and brushed some of the crushed sage from his trousers.

“Whoever told you must have left that part out,” he said.

Rey opened and closed her mouth without saying anything. Her revolver pointed at his boot.

It surprised him that this would jar her so. She was an outlaw, and outlaws took hostages. They burst into buildings filled with innocent people and used those innocent people to their advantage in any way possible. Yet Rey was looking at him like he’d broken some horrible truth. More importantly, she wasn’t shooting him, so despite the clamors of logic and reason, he decided to continue.

“He and my mother and uncle were part of a foursome of outlaws.” He huffed a dry laugh. “Seems strange, doesn’t it? A lawman coming from a criminal family.”

Rey’s gun hung from a limp arm at her side. Ben spotted his hat and started towards it, facing her all the while.

“I left,” he said. Such a strange way to summarize it. “Years later, they robbed a bank. It happened to be the town I was in, when I was aiming for a sheriff’s badge. I don’t know if they knew.” He scowled at the horizon. “I still don’t know.”

The hat dangled from a clump of yucca thorns as if it had been purposely placed there. When he bent down to retrieve it, he watched her from the corner of his eye, though she made no move to raise her revolver.

“The shots came and we all ran towards them. The bank was surrounded and people were still inside.”

Her face had gone pale and the column of her neck tensed as she swallowed.

“I didn’t want to shoot him,” Ben bit out, unsure why he was spilling his heartfelt emotions to a criminal. He’d thought about that day more than he’d ever wanted, and somehow, it felt good to tell someone who hadn’t been involved in any way, even though that someone was on the opposite side of the law.

“God, of course I didn’t want to shoot him. Our relationship was strained, but he was still my…” His jaw clenched. “It was him, or it was the seven people held up against the wall by his rifle. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You...you did it to become a marshal,” Rey said without conviction.

“No.” Ben brushed his hat against his trousers and dust puffed into the air. “Not at all. It wasn’t something I sought, I would never have—” He cut himself off. What Snoke would say, to see Ben right now. He shouldn’t be talking to her like this. Even though he had kept a safe distance between them, and even though his eyes had never left her, he could sense it: that relief of opening himself just a little, feeling a little more comfortable. He stiffened and snapped shut wherever that feeling was headed.

Ben tightened his grip on his revolver and settled the hat on his head. “I hadn’t set out to become a marshal, but I was made one because of it.”

“Why?”

Her question made him pause. She was looking at him with wide eyes, so curious and innocent that it nearly made him forget who she was.

The answer came out of him before he had a chance to think about it.

“Any young man who is capable of killing his wanted father must be capable of anything, if the law orders it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ben almost didn’t hear her, and he took a step forward then stopped, remembering the last time she had spoken softly in an attempt to lure him closer.

He frowned, and repeated her own question to her. “Why?”

Rey gave the sage by her feet a soft smile. “I think—”

The thud of boots and the crackle of breaking twigs rang out down the hill behind Ben, and Rey’s head snapped up.

“Rey!” a voice shouted. Ben heard the distant click of a hammer.

He spun around and raised his Colt at the three people running up the hill in their direction.

Another voice clamored over the first, also shouting her name.

A small hand grabbed his forearm and he looked down at Rey’s panicked face. She’d run over to him, and he saw that she’d holstered her gun.

“I’m fine!” she called out. She was pushing down on his arm, trying to lower Ben’s weapon hand, and he was pushing back, because there were three armed people undoubtedly coming to blast him to smithereens.

Her face paled even more as her eyes landed on the shining silver badge on Ben’s jacket, and with a small frustrated whine, she grabbed it and ripped it from the fabric.

“Hey!” For a second, he forgot about the threat of three approaching guns, and glowered at her, swiping out to try and take back his badge. That was _his_ , earned and paid for with blood, sweat, and tears. Literally. What was next, his hat? His horse? His _rifle_? How many more of his belongings would she pilfer before all of this was done?

Shit, and now the trio was close enough to kill him outright. Ben twisted and pulled his gun up, then gnashed his teeth when he saw that Rey had leapt between her gang and himself.

“It’s fine!” she cried. “He’s fine!” She held one hand out and pivoted so she alternated facing her palm between Ben and the three others, all of whom sent piercing glares at Ben. Her other hand was clutched to her chest, around his hard-earned badge, he’d wager.

Was it to be her trophy?

There was a short woman with a wide face and straight black hair. She wore trousers similar to Rey’s, although this woman’s seemed to have been hemmed correctly. The way she held her pistol made Ben wonder if she’d ever fired a weapon before, yet the brass knuckles adorning her other fist gave him pause.

A man with deep brown skin stood beside her, his wide-brimmed felt hat tipped back on his head far enough to reveal black hair clipped close. He appeared more comfortable with his rifle than the woman did, though he still wasn’t holding it correctly. His dark eyes didn’t waver from Ben’s face.

The third man had a swarthy complexion, dark curls, and exuded confidence. If Ben had run into the first two alone, he would be more than certain of success, but this one…

The man had two revolvers, and had only pulled out one. His free hand hovered almost delicately over the holstered pistol. Ben had seen his type before: the kind to spin a gun with a flourish as they tucked it away, the kind to draw quick and not miss.

He knew in an instant that this man could be dangerous.

The dark-skinned man and the woman starting talking at the same time.

“You were gone for so long! We saw this dark shape—”

“Who in the Hell is this big guy, Rey? Has he—”

The third man just looked Ben over in a leisurely way that made his hackles rise.

By now, Ben knew that the Rebels were made up of both genders, but he wasn’t sure why the visual proof made him irritated. And these weren’t just men, they were _handsome_ men. He wasn’t sure why that made him even more irritated.

“He was in the same cell as me in Black Rock,” Rey said. “When I busted us both out, I told him to catch up with us if he could.”

Ben tried not to let the shock show on his face.

What on the green Earth was she doing? Was she trying to _help_ him? By suggesting he join a Goddamned group of _outlaws_ ? Ben Solo was a man filled with determination to get a job done, but for fuck’s sake, _really_? He was going to be paid to take all of these people into a prison, not chat with them. Definitely not join them.

His finger twitched on his gun. Could he take the three of them out before they put him into the ground?

Maybe the first two. He wasn’t curious enough to find out.

Rey looked back and forth between Ben and her crew, seemingly willing Ben to lower his gun. He lowered it just enough to aim at the third man’s kneecap.

“He’s coming with us?” the third man said, startled.

Rey shot a look back towards Ben. “We were about to discuss it.”

The short woman gestured to Ben with her gun. “He’s dressed awful nice for someone busted out of a cell,” she said.

“He stole the clothes from a marshal,” Rey said and Ben almost snorted. Her body was still tense, ready to dodge, ready to spring. A quick turn of her head towards Ben sent a look that was part pleading, part panic.

He’d seen pleading on her face before, in the jail, when it had all been a ruse. This though, this was real. This was something to listen to. He wasn’t quite sure why yet.

The dark-skinned man lowered his gun and frowned.

“General isn’t gonna like coming back to find a newcomer,” he said.

A buzz of excitement began in Ben’s mind. ‘General’? No one had heard of the Rebels having any general in their midst. If he had to guess, that would be their leader.

Rey gestured to Ben. “He won’t be here when they get back.”

The buzz grew louder. Their leader was gone, but if Ben stuck around long enough for him to return, he’d not only have faces for useful wanted posters, but the face of the as-of-yet-unknown commander.

The third man still held his gun in a loose grip but relaxed the hand above his spare. He gave Ben a calculating stare. “Could probably use an extra gun had in the interim.”

Yet...what would be the cost? Ben would rather walk into another exploding saloon than hold up anyone at gunpoint ever again. If he went along with this crew, even for as long as it took for some ‘general’ to come back, how many times would he have to decide between participating in a robbery or sitting idly by while it happened right underneath him? He had become a lawman to uphold the law. Not to let it sag and drag in the sand.

“Why don’t you tell Maz she can get supper started,” Rey said to the three. “We’ll only be a moment.”

The woman looked uncertain, but the curly-haired man smirked and spun his pistol around his finger before slamming into his holster (of course he did), and stomped down the hill.

“Holler if you need us,” he shouted. The woman followed him after a second, but the dark-skinned man came closer to Rey, shooting distrustful glares at Ben.

“I can stay, if you want,” he said softly.

Her smile was all warmth and trust. It lit up her skin and puckered sweet dimples on each cheek. Ben felt something in his stomach tighten.

“I’ll be fine, Finn,” she said. “I can handle myself. Especially against this lug.” She gestured to Ben with a thumb and he bristled in response.

As soon as the man called ‘Finn’ started down the hill, Ben grabbed Rey’s elbow and spun her around to face him.

“What the fuck was that?” he snapped, though his voice was hushed. Didn’t want to call anyone back, after all.

She sucked her teeth. “That was me saving your life, you ass!”

Ben gave an exaggerated eye roll. “I wasn’t aware my life was in peril against three people, two of whom don’t look capable of shooting a hare at three paces.”

Her boots crunched in the dirt as she stomped towards her fallen revolver.

“Poe could drop you before you finished pulling your trigger,” she snapped over her shoulder. “He has the fastest hands in the West.”

Ben bit out a ‘geuugh’ of disgusted disbelief. “You can’t believe anyone actually _says_ that.”

She stomped back to him, dusting off the barrel of her gun. “Well he is! He’s fast as lightning with everything he does!”

Ben couldn’t help himself, and said: “Suppose he’s not very popular in the sack, then.”

It took a moment, but a pretty blush spread across Rey’s cheeks. “Why don’t you find out?” she said primly. “I hear he’s very welcoming to all sorts.”

Ben glared at her. She didn’t flinch.

“If I hadn’t said something, Poe would have killed you.”

“Not before I took down one or two of them.” Voice growing louder, he stepped towards the outlaw in front of him. “You’ve somehow forgotten: _that_ is the reason why I’m here, and the reason I’ve been following you.” He jabbed his finger at the air in front of her chest.

With an annoyed ‘tch,’ Rey shoved his hand away.

“Holster that finger, mister,” she snapped.

“I know where you can holster it,” he snapped in return.

The blush on her cheeks brightened into an almost flaming red, and when Ben realized what he had said and how it could have been interpreted, he could feel his ears burn crimson. Instead of going farther down that road, he pinched his lips into a thin line, then tugged the hat from his head and scrubbed his hair. Pieces of crushed plant matter and flakes of dirt drifted to the ground.

He slammed the hat into place. “I want my badge.” It came out as a menacing rumble. She should have shied away from it, realized the full weight of their situation, but he saw a flicker of heat in her eyes. Then she blinked, and it was gone.

Ben held out his hand, palm up. The silver badge slammed into it with a solid smack. A circle ringed around a five-pointed star. Silver and shining, polished to gleaming perfection. The beads of red along the edge were new, though. He rubbed a finger across one and smeared a delicate pink hue along the silver.

“Give me your hand.”

Rey’s head snapped up. “What?”

He didn’t repeat himself, he just reached out and snatched the hand that had held his badge.

“Hey! What are—oh.” Her indignation quickly dissolved as they both looked at the smear of blood across her creased palm. There were calluses on her fingers and dirt under her nails, and the weight of her small hand lay so nicely in his. Again, he had that feeling of being large and ungainly in comparison.

Rey roughly pulled her hand away from his. “It was the pin, I think. Held it too tight.” She rooted around in a pocket and dragged out a stained and soiled bandanna. At some point in its history, it might have been blue.

“Stop,” Ben said, rooting around in his own pocket.

She gave his offered handkerchief a scoff, with its light-colored linen and starched creases still present, but took it anyway.

“Thanks,” she muttered. “Don’t think this means you can stay.”

“Then why did you even say it?”

Rey threw her hands into the air. “It was the first thought that came to mind! There’s no way I could have told the truth.”

When he picked up his rifle, she eyed it warily, though her own revolvers stayed in their securements.

“Well...thank you,” Ben said, glaring at the horizon. A scattering of clouds covered the low sun and bright rays of light speared the sky.

“You’re welcome.” She was looking at him as if she didn’t know what to make of him. He wondered for a moment who—or what—she saw.

“Why did you do it?” he said

That little crease appeared on her brow, the one that showed confusion.

“I didn’t _want_ to bleed on your badge.”

Ben shook his head. “Why did you stop them from shooting me?”

The hand not wrapped in his handkerchief dragged down her face and she sighed heavily.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe because you’re not who I thought you were. Whoever the Hell you’re supposed to be in this world, I know enough that I don’t want you dead anymore.”

Ben raised his eyebrows, and her mouth twitched up into a sharp, brief smile.

“Doesn’t mean you can tag along.”

The thing was, Ben was actually getting used to the idea of traveling with the Rebels. It had been a foreign, alarming thought at first, but the more he mulled it over, the more it sounded like a rather excellent plan. He would be incognito: a spy, privy to their secrets and their weaknesses. He’d be able to provide excellent fodder for individualized wanted posters and intel on their leader when he returned. Perhaps it would be enough to balance out the fact that he’d be running with criminals. None of the group had ever seen his face, so they wouldn’t be able to recognize him as a marshal.

There would be food, company for his horse, and adequate time to question a certain brunette bandit about her life. She hadn’t fired on him, even though she’d had more than one opportunity. Maybe, just maybe, he could make her see the light of the law. And he wasn’t quite ready to leave her, not yet. There was something there, something between them. It pulsed under his skin and through his bones, and it whispered, _You've found her. Don't you dare let her go, you idiot._

Staying with the group would be greatly beneficial.

He just had to convince Rey.

“Why shouldn’t I join up with you?”

She looked at him like he’d just suggested they hop around in the desert and call themselves jackalopes.

“ _What_?”

Ben gave a noncommittal shrug. “Think about it. I’d be following you anyway. Wouldn’t you rather have me where you could keep an eye on me?”

She fidgeted with his handkerchief and pursed her lips. “Having you on a bedroll across a campfire from me wouldn’t exactly be calming. What was it you said? ‘Taking us in was the reason you were here’?”

He sighed and inwardly cursed himself. “There’s one of me against eleven of you. Do you honestly think I could bring all of you in by myself?” Throwing her number lie back at her made her flinch. It was a barely noticeable flinch, but he caught it.

“And this is dangerous territory. Didn’t Moe say you could use another gun hand?’

“Poe,” Rey corrected. “And we’re fine on gun hands.”

“Sure about that? There's a whole number of gangs bigger and more dangerous than you all, farther East you go.”

She was considering it. Tapping her fingers on her elbows, twisting her head so she could stare at the junipers. Ben could practically hear the cacophonous riot of her thoughts. She lifted her chin up at him.

“Four days,” she said. “That’s all. We’re far enough from any big cities, and you don’t get to come with us into a town only to turn us in to the closest sheriff.”

“Done.” If he got their faces and the locations of even one of their hideouts, he wouldn’t need to turn them in himself; anyone else could do it for him. He’d just need to get friendly enough with the others that maybe one of them would open up a bit. It would mean socializing, and it would mean conversation, and it made Ben more than a little nervous to do such things, but this was for the greater good.

“How do I know you’re not going to kill all of us in our sleep?” she said.

 _Because the wanted posters said nothing about ‘dead or alive,’_ he thought, but only said, “It’ll be an ice-cold day in Hell when I fire on someone who isn’t armed.”

“What if we wear our revolvers when we sleep?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Armed and awake.”

“If I’m facing away from you?”

“I promise you, I will not shoot on any of you unless I am shot upon first.”  

She nodded slowly.

“Can you make the same promise to me?” he said.

“We’re not like that.” There was some element of pity in her voice, as if she could hardly believe that he thought they were capable of such a thing.

“Well?” he pressed.

Rey dug into her jacket, then held out his watch, nestled on top of his red-speckled handkerchief.

She gave him a small smile.

“You okay with a blood promise?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut train has passed the smut-less--but necessary--stops of background, angst, and reunite.  
> Coming up in the next three chapters: (because that's how far I've planned and am TOTALLY not making this whole thing up as I go along) a makeout, some horse tricks, a shootout, some actual villains, a gratuitous sexy soap scene, and really gratuitous sexy times. And maybe a fire. And someone might die. 
> 
> Thanks so much for your comments, your supports, and your shares!! They all seriously mean so much. <3
> 
> P.S. The next chapter will probably take a bit longer to publish, since I just started a drawing of these two wacky kids in this AU. (A teaser is on Tumblr @inmyownidiom if you'd like to take a gander.)
> 
> P.P.S. A gigantic giggly hug to everyone so far who has picked up the 'smut train' terminology. I came up with it in my other Reylo fic (Wicked Game) and I'm just the giddiest that it's still rolling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a while, but it gave me a fair share of trouble. Thanks a bazillion to BellaRosa2187 for her amazing beta skills! 
> 
> Optional auditory mood-setting: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LDS8SeO6hyg (Heart Shaped Box, Ramin Djawadi, Westworld Soundtrack)

Maz had called him a devil.

Looking across the fire, Rey could almost believe it; his black clothing made him meld into the empty desert, and all she could see was the flash of firelight in his eyes and the unearthly flicker against his pale skin.

A chill crept across her arms that had nothing to do with the temperature.

She’d raced down the hill after their unsteady agreement and hurriedly told the group not to mention the general in front of Ben.

“I don’t like this,” Finn had said. “Not at all.”

“He’s only staying for a few days,” she told him. “Just enough to get himself set up on his own.”

Poe waved his hand. “Fine by me, Vic,” he said. “Long as he doesn’t try to make off with any of our loot, I’ll keep my bullets out of him.”  

Artoo’s blue eyes stared down the approaching marshal, the creases on his forehead deepening, before he relaxed into a shrug.

“Not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” he said, though as he climbed into the wagon, Rey could have sworn he’d muttered, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“But the general—” Finn pressed.

“Is going to be gone for a fortnight, at least,” Rey finished for him. “Ben’s only staying for a few days.” It had crossed her mind several times that Leia might return early, either having found her brother without much travel or having decided to give up on her journey. Rey didn’t want to think of that option. By the time the general returned, said marshal would be long gone.

How she’d manage that part was yet to be discovered. She’d think of something, eventually.

Finn’s expression had changed to one of betrayal. “ _Ben_ ? Now you’re on intimate terms with him?” He barged ahead over Rey’s flustered stammering, “ _Ben_ is gonna see all of our faces. We’ve worked so hard to keep ourselves hidden, and—”

“But he doesn’t know who we are, right?” Rose said to Rey.

Unable to speak for a second, Rey shook her head.

Poe clapped Finn on the shoulder, “See? He doesn’t know we’re the Rebels. For all he cares, we’re just another group of outlaws.” He then squeezed Finn in a one-armed side hug, “And he was in a jail cell. You know you can trust someone if you got them out of a jail cell.”

Finn opened his mouth, about to comment on the absolute ridiculous nature of Poe’s reasoning, then shut it with a shake of his head.

“It’ll be fine, buddy,” Poe said.

There really wasn’t a time when Rey was not jealous of Poe’s seemingly invincible optimism.

Amilyn was more suspicious of the tall, dark stranger, and her first words to him as he’d walked up were: “You look like the reaper, dressed like that,” followed directly by, “Hey, nice horse!”

Maybe Rey had been wrong to accept the marshal’s proposition. No, scratch that, she _had_ been wrong to do so. It was far too late to change it now, though.

The fire crackled and brought her attention back to the present.

She picked at the biscuit on her tin plate and briefly entertained the thought of dipping it in Maz’s newest gravy concoction, before scraping the congealing brown liquid off of her plate and eating the biscuit dry.

Hours after their agreement, she still couldn’t think of anything else she could have said in that moment that wouldn’t result in Poe shooting the marshal through the heart. And no matter how idiotic it was to allow the one man chasing them to fucking _join_ them, she couldn’t let them kill him.

Not when he was the only other person she had met who shared the same kind of guilt that she’d been carrying for so many years. He’d killed and fled from those who shared his blood, and it had torn him apart.

Rey licked the crumbs from her fingers and glanced around at her group. Pasts weren’t frequently discussed among the Rebels, and those that were shared were hazy at best; she had a theory that if there was one person sitting around the fire who wouldn’t recoil when told why Rey had no family, it would be the marshal.

The dry biscuit stuck in her drier throat, and she washed it down with a gulp of stale water.

Across the fire, Ben was cautiously swabbing the gravy with his biscuit. He brought it to his nose and sniffed. Uncertainty grew on his features, and he bit into the biscuit like it contained a swarm of bees. As he chewed, he blinked rapidly, swallowed, then let out a strangled cough.

His eyes darted to Rey and narrowed at her suppressed silent laugh, and she faked interest in the remaining crumbs on her plate.

The clatter of pans announced Maz’s arrival.

“Hey!” Maz snapped at Ben and aimed a creased, brown finger at him. “You don’ like my cookin’, boy?”

Ben straightened. “It’s delicious, ma’am,” he said, his deep voice sounding oddly pinched.

Rey’s laugh wasn’t quite as silent the second time, and beside her, Finn’s shoulders shook. Rose hid her chuckle behind a hand while Amilyn grinned. Cajun cooking didn’t seem to settle well with the marshal.

“Good, ‘cause you goin’ eat all of it.” Maz gestured to his plate, then to everyone else’s. “Don’ want to waste good food.” She settled onto one of the wagon’s steps next to Artoo, who seemed like he wasn’t sure what was more intimidating: Maz or the gravy.

Poe stretched his arms over his head, let out an extended groan, and pulled a flask from his jacket.

“No sign of our marshal friend, huh?” he said after taking a swig.

Rose shook her head and swiped the flask from him.

“Not today,” she said over Poe’s outraged ‘Hey!’

Maz grumbled from the wagon step. “Good,” she said. “Hope ‘e falls into a canyon and rots dere. Damn Marshals. Pieces of shit.”

Rey hoped no one noticed how quickly she looked over to Ben. His lips were pinched as he stared into the fire.

“They’re just following the law, Maz,” Rey said.

The old woman spit into the cool, black desert air. “They followed de law when dey returned runaway slaves. You goan’ tell me dat’s fine with you?” She huffed at the silence that followed, then she rose and clomped into the wagon.

“Make you own dishes, I goan’ to bed,” she said and disappeared with Artoo not far behind.

Amilyn’s back was to a rock, and she shifted against it. “Maz is from the South,” she said for Ben’s benefit, since everyone else already knew. There was more to the story, Rey was sure, but Maz had never let on what she had run from. It didn’t take too much to guess, though.

“Ah,” Ben said, as if that explained everything.

After a moment of staring intently at Ben, Finn spoke.

“You should know,” he said to Ben, “someone’s been following us out of Black Rock. A marshal.”

Rey’s stomach dropped. Did Finn know? _Already_? She sent a panicked glance at Ben, but his face betrayed nothing.

“That must have been who I saw at the jail,” Ben said, not missing a beat.

“Oh yeah?” Finn said. “What’d he look like? We’ll keep an eye out for him.”

It was almost as if Rey could see the gears whirring in the marshal’s brain as he spoke of a man with short stature, a paunchy belly, a thinning thatch of blonde hair, and skin creased and thickened by the sun; through his description, she clearly recognized the sheriff of Black Rock.

Rose wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t sound like much of a marshal to me.”

Poe tried to grab his flask from her, but Rose tossed it over Poe’s head to Rey. The whiskey was as smooth as a table of broken glass. Rey unsuccessfully tried to hold in her shudder, then she passed the flask to Finn.

Letting out a heavy sigh of defeat, Poe nudged Rose with his elbow. “So tell us, dear Rose, what should a marshal look like in your perfect world? Wide, waxed mustache? Tall hat? A raging hard-on for justice?”

Rose leaned back onto her palms and smiled at the flickering fire. “He should be tall. Well-dressed. Handsome. And have a big gun.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Rey and Amilyn. “A really big gun.”

Poe rolled his eyes while Rey tried desperately not to look at Ben.

Rose continued. “I mean, a really, _really_ big—”

“We get it!” Poe interrupted, laughing.

Rey’s self-control broke, and her gaze landed on Ben as if pulled there. He was already staring back, and as she watched, a tiny smirk twitched at his lips. One eye snapped closed, so fast that she hardly caught it.

Good God, did he just _wink_ at her?

Heat burned her face, and she hoped to the heavens that no one could see the ferocious blush undoubtedly flaring from her forehead to her toes. Like hell she would think a single thought about the marshal and the size of his gun, literal or otherwise. She snatched the flask from Finn and took another swig, then she almost coughed it all out.

Poe lunged over Rose and swiped the flask from Rey’s shuddering fingers.

“Gimme that,” he said. “You’ll waste it.”

“It’s already a waste,” Rey wheezed.

Amilyn swiveled to face Ben. “So tell us about yourself.”

He squirmed under the sudden attention of five sets of curious stares, and Rey almost felt uncomfortable for him. _Almost_.

“Not much to tell,” he said tersely.

In the ensuing silence, cicadas hummed in the trees above their heads. A lonesome cricket chirped off in the dark.

Amilyn made a gesture for more. “And?” she said. “Where are you from? What do you do? Where did you get that magnificent piece of horseflesh?”

Ben cleared his throat. “I’m from Wyoming.”

Was he? Rey tried to remember what Leia had told her about Ben’s early life on their farm, and she drew a solid blank. She found herself wanting to know the truth. And not just for knowing’s sake.

“What do you do out here in the West?” Amilyn pressed.

“I, uh, steal...horses,” Ben said with all the conviction of a nun spewing a string of curses.

“You steal the one you rode in on?” Finn asked, gesturing to the stand in which the horses were hobbled.

“Um,” Ben said. “Yep.” His voice cracked a little on the ‘yep.’

Rey fought the urge to put her head in her hands.

It was going to be a difficult night.

 

* * *

 

Morning came much too soon, as it always does after a night of fitful sleep and vivid dreams.

Rey couldn’t remember most of the dreams, but one lingered in her mind like a stubborn cloud:

He was above her, pinning her like he’d done during their tussle, but this time she felt his weight pressing her into her bedroll instead of dirt. Heat radiated off of his skin, and the hard length of his erection ground against her hip; he leaned in close, and his breath brushed the shell of her ear like a feather as he whispered, “A _really_ big gun.”

She’d woken with an ache between her legs and sweat between her breasts, and she packed her bedroll and accoutrements long before they broke camp and started across the dry landscape.

Arizona’s red dirt had long been replaced by New Mexico’s tawny hills and scrubby brush. Antelope bounded across the flat tops of mesas. Now and then, the bristling rattle of a snake sounded against the hush of a lazy wind. High overhead, a hawk circled and screeched against the bluebird sky, drawn to the creak of leather saddles and the scraps of food that always accompanied such noises.

They’d ridden for most of the morning when Rose trotted her palomino up to BeeBee, and Rey turned to see a scowl on the normally chipper face.

“I think his only good quality might be that he smells nice,” Rose said. “He’s not much fun to talk to.” She had been riding alongside Ben, who had been a few horse-lengths behind Rey. When the wind had pulled their conversation up to Rey’s ears, it had almost always been Rose’s voice mixed with the occasional grunt. The wind had also pulled that lovely, citrusy, soapy smell to Rey’s nose. He’d shaved this morning—down by the tiny creek. When he returned to his saddlebags, she caught a glimpse of a razor and a thick cake of soap, and sweet heavens, did it nearly drive her to thieving right then and there.

In front of Rose, Poe twisted on his dappled grey and flashed a snarky grin.

“Don’t think Rey wanted Little Ben to come along for his conversation skills.”

Rose giggled, and Rey bristled.

“For Pete’s sake, Poe,” she snapped. “Stop being an ass.”

“Aw, come on!” Poe said. “We were joking!”

“He wasn’t!” Rose cried, pointing an accusing finger at Poe.

Rey dismissed their ongoing banter with a flap of her hand. She’d felt the marshal’s eyes on her back the entire ride, and now she could swear they were burning a hole in her jacket. With little imagination, she could pretend that she was feeling his fingers on her back instead; those long, thick digits skimming her skin and dipping along her spine.

Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to forget how he’d felt above her. The man was _strong_ . And _enormous._ And try as she might, it was near impossible to not reflect on the way he’d caught his breath when he’d found himself nestled between her thighs; the way his powerful hands had gripped her wrists; the way his eyes had darkened and his lips had parted; and the way he’d looked at her like he was a starving man and she was the feast. That last memory alone sent a spike of desire through her entire body.

The saddle suddenly felt much too hard, and she became aware of every time it rocked against her nethers.

Had Poe been entirely wrong, earlier, when he said she’d wanted Tall, Dark, and Broody along for more than conversation?

She looked over her shoulder and watched as Ben’s horse heaved up over a scattering of stones. The way his hips moved against his saddle transfixed her: a slow, hypnotic sway. He touched his hat and nodded at her, and she twisted about to face front so fast that her head spun. The man might be her one-way ticket to a jail cell and the end of the line for her and her closest friends, but...

Yeah.

She wanted him.

Something _fierce._

A phrase popped into her head without warning—a coy whisper she’d overhead in a saloon from a girl with painted lips and an ample bosom who was trying to lure in a fare:

 _‘I ain’t much for dramatic exits, but I’d sure as hell like to ride you into the sunset._ ’

Although Rey had only ever sat astride a horse, the idea had some merit: her palms on his broad chest, his big fingers digging into her waist, her body working him as she basked in his gasps and helpless groans.

Despite the relative cool of the early summer afternoon, her neck felt far too hot. A bead of sweat trickled between her breasts and she removed her short-brimmed hat so she could use it as a fan.

As the group crested the top of a hill, Rey could see the smattering of buildings that made up the town of Shiprock. Far to the south, the jagged butte of the town’s namesake prickled out of the ground.

They’d made a plan this morning to swing through town for supplies when they reached it. Not an extended stay, just long enough to stock up on grain for the horses, bullets for their guns, and ingredients that weren’t paprika for Maz.

One they reached Shiprock, Maz and Artoo split off to find the general store while the others trailed behind Poe as he headed straight for the saloon.

She’d heard somewhere that birds used the magnetics of the Earth to fly south every winter and that bees did some sort of dance to figure out the location of flowers; Rey wouldn’t be surprised if Poe’s internal navigation was based around the nearest saloon.

The corral outside the saloon had more horses than Rey had ever seen in Shiprock, and she wondered for a moment if there was some event she hadn’t heard about, but she quickly nixed that thought. What ever happened in _Shiprock_?

“Gonna play a round with us, Benny?” Poe said after they’d dismounted and led their horses into the corral.

“I don’t gamble,” Ben said simply.

“Suit yourself.” Amilyn shrugged and wiggled her gloved fingers over her shoulder.

Rey took a step towards the saloon, before she paused and sent a glance towards Ben. What would he do, left out here on his own?

“You coming?” Finn said, noticing her hesitation.

“Nah,” she said and wiggled a thumb at the marshal. “I’m gonna stay out here with the reaper, make sure he doesn’t steal my horse.”

Finn’s eyes widened. “Good idea,” he whispered.

She watched them all—Finn, Poe, Amilyn, and Rose—as they pushed through the swinging scraped doors. Shouts, boisterous laughs, and the tinkling of an out-of-tune piano burst from the doorway and the open windows.

In a building next to the saloon, a scantily-clad woman leaned down from her second-floor balcony and waved a lacy piece of fabric at a man down below. He clutched his hat to his chest, made as if he were about to swoon, and nearly ran inside. A chipped and faded sign flapped over the front door and announced that “The Desert Rose” was the cleanest house north of the San Juan. Seeing as the San Juan exactly bisected Shiprock in an east-west direction, Rey didn’t quite know what to make of the claim.

She didn’t notice that Ben was standing behind her until he spoke.

‘You don’t think I’m true to my word?” The low rumble of his voice sent a shiver up her spine, and she jumped a fraction off the ground before spinning around.

“Not sure if they trust you,” she said after she caught her breath.

“Not what I asked,” he said.

He was awful close. She had to tip her head backwards to look him in the eye.

“It’s…” She pursed her lips. “I’d feel bad if you were all by your lonesome out here.”

He leveled an unimpressed expression down at her. She dodged out from underneath the weight of his gaze and went to the corral, propping her elbows on the top beam.

His footsteps followed and stopped by her side.

“What’s your surname?” she blurted. When he’d been introduced to the group, he hadn’t given one. No one had been too surprised—in their group, last names were a luxury.

After a moment, Ben rumbled, “Solo.”

Rey snorted. “What are you, a maudlin actor? Really. What is it?”

Another pause. “Solo.”

“Oh.” She drummed her fingers on the fence.

“Yours?”

Rey’s stomach clenched. “That might be one secret I’ll always keep from you, Marsh.” With hardly a pause, she said, “You really from Wyoming?”

“Why does that matter?”

Rey shrugged. “Curious, is all.”

When the response was a grunt, she gave up and watched BeeBee nose at another paint horse inside the corral. The second horse pinned her ears against her head and lashed out with a rear hoof, narrowly missing BeeBee. Bee let loose an offended squeal and leaped away. Horse politics never failed to confound her.

Ben cleared his throat beside her. “You never answered me before,” he said, “when I asked what brought you here.”

Rey pointed at the ground, purposely obtuse. “Here?”

She couldn’t help but stare as he pulled off his hat and ruffled a hand through his thick hair. It was as black and shiny as a crow’s feather. Would it be soft, under her fingers?

“No, here.” His words startled her out of her musings, and he gestured around them. “The United States.”

“Oh.” She was sure that if she said ‘But I’m from Santa Fe’ again, he might toss her over his horse and gallop straight to the nearest jail cell. Or he’d toss her over one of his shoulders. Those big, broad, undoubtedly lickable shoulders.

He cleared his throat once more, and she realized that she had been staring at the carefully pressed seams on his jacket.

What was _wrong_ with her? Had it really been that long since she’d had a lay? One dream about whispered gun innuendo made her suddenly as ravenous as a fox in heat. All right, one dream, one grabby tussle in the dirt, one frantic kiss in a jail...

Good lord, now she was staring at his lips.

“Fine,” he said, and Rey jerked herself out of whatever trance she was quickly falling under. “I really am from Wyoming. Near Cheyenne.” He sighed. “I answered your question; you gonna answer mine?”

Rey stared at the pine beam under her hands. “I don’t know.”

“You...don’t know if you’ll answer it?”

“No, I...I don’t know what brought me here.”

She heard Ben scoff beside her. “Good answer,” he said sarcastically.

Rey sighed. “No, I mean, I don’t know.” She ducked under the fence and headed towards BeeBee. “I was never told.”

She heard him hit his head on the beam in his haste to follow her.

“You okay, cowboy?” She glanced backwards to see him frowning at her and rubbing his head, hat in one hand.

“I’m fine.” He slammed the black Stetson on top of those crow-black waves. “Your family never told you?”

The pain had been coming on slowly, like a cracking dam, and now it burst, flooding her veins with bitterness and guilt.

“They never had a chance to.”

The marshal frowned, and his footsteps followed her as she made her way over to BeeBee. “Why not?” he said.

“Because I killed them.”

His steps halted behind her. Had she made a mistake, telling him this? Under the supposition that he would understand, that he wouldn’t shrink from her in disgust, had she gone and made herself a monster in his eyes?

“What happened?” There was something in his voice that reminded her of the calm tone one used with a spooked horse.

BeeBee whuffed into Rey’s palm as she stroked his velvet nose.

“You really want to know?” she murmured.

His reply was immediate. “Yes.”

Why not? What could it do? He was already set on arresting her at some point, anyway.

“We had a farm north of Santa Fe—my mother, my father, my older sister, and me. I don’t know why we came here, but my parents would talk about London a lot and how different it was here. Drier. Harsher.

“I was five, I think. Or six. I caught diphtheria. I remember the word being tossed around the house. I remember the fever, and the chills, and feeling like I was being smothered by air.”

Ben had gone silent behind her, and a brief glance assured her that he was still there.

“The doctor came, and I started getting better. Then my mother started coughing. My father. My sister. They’d used all the money for helping me, so there wasn’t any left for them. I couldn’t go into town by myself, anyway, and none of them could…” Her voice trailed off, and her hands closed around BeeBee’s bridle as if was her anchor. His warm breath huffed against her face, smelling of hot horse and sweet hay.

A boot crunched behind her, but he wasn’t stepping away. Not yet.

“I…” Her voice began to tremble and she tamped it down. “They were all so hot, even though it was winter. I wanted to cool them off. They were burning and no one could open a window. I did, though. I left all of them open overnight and huddled under my blankets. I woke up and...they had cooled. Completely. Their skin was blue, and no one was breathing.” She cleared her throat against the tightness.

“You can’t think that was your fault,” Ben said, his voice close and filled with some unnamed emotion. “You were a child. You—”

Rey turned to face him. “I was old enough.”

“Why tell me this?” He said it softly, his dark eyes flitting across her face.

“Because you feel it, too.”

His brow furrowed in a silent question, and she continued.

“The guilt,” she said. “No one else here”—she gestured at the saloon—“has that. Sadness, sure. But sadness doesn’t gnaw at your bones as much. But you... _you_ have it.” BeeBee nudged at her back and she picked a crust of dirt out of his forelock.

She swallowed at his silence. Maybe it had been a mistake to tell him all of this. She’d carried that day in her heart for fifteen years, and for once, just _once_ , she wanted someone to say, ‘I understand. I know how you feel.’

“What did you do after?”

Rey flashed him a bitter smile. “Like any young lady of my standing, I was sent off to Unkar Plutt’s Home for Working Children. A few years of that was enough, so I ran back to the farm. Managed it pretty well by myself for a while. Then the group came along, and I...found my place, in all of this.” She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “I found a home.”

He was quiet again, and when she looked at him, actually _looked_ , he was staring at her with an odd expression as if he was seeing her completely. Like she had been wearing a heavy sheet, and with that one awful story, it had been whisked away to reveal something entirely different. It made her feel naked, but not in the good sort of way—it was in the exposed, underprepared sort of way.

“You’re staring at me awful strange, Marsh.”

Ben tilted his head slightly. “You’re not what I expected. From an outlaw, that is.”

She huffed, oddly flattered. “I’m full of surprises.”

The marshal’s big, black horse was sticking its snout underneath one of the corral beams in a desperate hunt for grass and he lifted his head as Rey approached.

“I like your horse,” Rey said.

“His name’s Tie.”

She stroked the long, proud nose and murmured endearments and his ears flicked forward in appreciation.

Ben gave a low whistle and Tie pulled his massive head from Rey’s embrace and walked over to the man.

“I’m trying to teach him a few things, but he’s still fairly young,” Ben said as he scratched Tie’s forelock under the bridle leather.

“What kinds of things?”

“So far he’s learned not to shy at a gunshot, how to back up. Pivot. The usual.”

Part of her wished that someone would look at her the way Ben was looking at his horse. The man was smitten. Rey tried not be jealous of a horse.

“I’ve done some training with BeeBee, too,” she said.

“Oh?”

She wasn’t doing this to show off, she told herself; it was just a continuation of their conversation.

BeeBee trotted over at her clap and stopped a few feet in front of her.

“Good afternoon, my dear sir!” she said loudly, exaggerating her accent, and swept a low bow over her hat.

He didn’t do anything at first, and Rey cleared her throat. BeeBee snorted at her, then he carefully extended one foreleg and bent his head over it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ben huff a soft laugh and smile as he leaned against the fence.

Pride swelled in her chest. She’d been practicing for a while now, but she had only performed this routine in front of friends. They didn’t count for much; the group was so supportive, they would shout and clap joyous support no matter what.

Rey rose out of her bow, and BeeBee did the same. She flung one arm out towards the food trough.

“Are you eating well, dear sir?” she said.

The horse tossed his head sideways. It wasn’t the wide shake that she wanted, but they were still working on this part.

“No?” she cried in alarm, then clutched a hand to her chest as BeeBee tossed again. “Dear sir, is there anything I can do to help?”

Her fingers brushed along the brim of her hat, and just as they’d rehearsed, he stretched out his neck and grabbed her hat between his yellow teeth.

“Hey!” she shouted in mock indignation and lunged for her hat, but the horse lifted it out of reach so that she was jumping for it like a child after a piece of candy.

Normally he’d let her have it back, but his spat with the mare must have affected him more than she’d thought. She chased BeeBee as he pranced around the corral, his tail raised high like a flag and her hat bobbing in his mouth.

A hearty chuckle snatched her attention to the railing and her feet stalled. Ben’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile tipped higher on one side than the other. Long dimples creased both cheeks. She’d thought him a sight when he’d glowered at her from behind bars; this was another creature entirely and she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Hooves crunched the gravel beside her. She turned just in time to see BeeBee’s sides heave so he could blow her hat into her face. It bounced off her forehead and she yelped, which only made Ben laugh harder.

Rey felt flushed and exhilarated. The effort to keep the grin under control proved too difficult, so she let it free.

She grabbed her hat from the ground and wiped off the largest smears of dirt and horse spit.

“I’m impressed,” Ben said. He’d composed himself, and the only remnant of that joyful man was the crooked pull of his lips.

“We’ve been practicing.” BeeBee nuzzled her jacket. She pulled a sugar cube out of a grainy pocket.

“What do you plan to do with that?”

Once BeeBee finished the cube and discovered there wasn’t another one in it for him, he snorted and plodded towards the water trough.

Rey squinted at the marshal in the harsh light, since the hat was still slightly damp and she’d chosen not to smear horse spit all over her hair.

“Heard of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West?” she said.

Ben nodded. “A bit.”

“They do tours, you know. Go town to town and get all sorts of cash and applause.” Rey gave the orange paint a satisfied nod. “I think we’d fit right in.”

“With all the others who have decided to run off and join the circus?”

“Exactly.”

He was silent for a moment and she turned to him. His expression was thoughtful.

“You ever think to stop running?” It didn’t come across as a scold, or a jibe, but as an honest question, and it caught her off guard.

She scrubbed her neck. “You ever think to stop chasing?”

He ignored her and stepped away from the railing. “You could be more than...this.” He said the word as if it offended him.

 _"'_ _This’?_  What do you mean by—”

“More than a face on a ‘wanted’ poster. More than a...a thief.”

Rey gritted her teeth against the anger that began to simmer through her. Who the _fuck_ was he to judge _her_ and the decisions that she’d made?

“Is that how it is, Marsh?” she said bitterly. “That’s the real reason you came along? You think you can turn me to the right side of the law?”

His jaw worked. “No,” he said, but it didn’t seem like he meant it. He swiveled away from her, hands on his hips.

Classic. He imagined himself as the gallant knight, desperate to save the innocent girl from her own destruction.

“Yeah,” she said and swallowed harshly. “Yeah, you did.” She scoffed. “And here I thought you just wanted another kiss.”

Ben twisted to her, shock on his long face. “What?” A flush crept up his neck, and Rey took great pleasure in his flustered stare. If he was going to judge her, she was going to make him feel uncomfortable.

“I bet that kiss changed your world,” she said.

The flush darkened. “I’ve had better.”

Rey’s snort was anything but ladylike. “Really? You’ve had better? It didn’t seem like you’d had a lot to compare it to.”

Ben sucked in an outraged breath. “Now that’s...I’ve had plenty…” His fists clenched. “Are you saying it was bad?”

Rey raised an eyebrow, then she threw his own words back at him. “I’ve had better.”

He took a step towards her. He’d missed a spot shaving, she saw, right at the edge of his jaw.

Ben’s words were like a growl. “You’re awful cocky for someone who lunged at me like she hasn’t been kissed in years!”

Rey’s mouth opened and closed as her brain rattled through responses. The air was hot, and it danced over her skin like a flame.

“If I’d a known that was what I was going to get, maybe I wouldn’t have _lunged_!” She mimicked the lunging and found herself nearly stepping on his toes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want to try it again?” he said, sneering down at her. “Maybe with _you_ locked behind bars?”

Rey sneered back. “Not until you get more practice.”

He was so close, her breath was doing funny things in her chest. She couldn’t stop staring at his lips: wide, plump, parted.

“You want me to practice?” His low voice rumbled through her. All of a sudden, she felt like she had set a trap for a bear only to have it tear free from the cage and charge her. Her pulse took off at a gallop.

“Yeah,” she said, breathless. “I think it’ll be good for you. I think it’ll build character.”

Ben was staring at her lips now, and she licked them. His breath was warm on her face, and she could feel as it came fast and shallow.

“Fine,” he said tightly. “I’ll practice.”

Her eyelids fluttered as his head dipped. Rey couldn’t think. Everything buzzed and screamed underneath her skin. God, she’d imagined this more times than she’d care to admit, and now it was happening. No bars, no jail, no barriers.

She parted her lips and sucked in a shuddering breath...which whooshed out as his arm smacked into her shoulder, and he stormed past her, right towards ‘The Desert Rose.’

The insufferable _bastard_.

“Hey!” Rey shouted at Ben’s wide back, but he didn’t stop. She grabbed a dried clod of dirt from the ground and threw as hard as she could, hitting him square between the shoulders.

Ben flinched and whirled around. “What was that for?” he yelled.

“I was aiming for your thick head, but I missed!”

Someone on the second floor of the saloon stuck their head out of a window. Rey couldn’t hear what they shouted; the blood pounding in her ears was louder than a freight train.

Ben stomped in her direction with a ferocious scowl on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You had a girl almost flat-out stating that she wants you to kiss her, and you storm off to a whorehouse!”

Ben blinked at her, and she realized what she’d said.

“What?” He sounded dumbfounded, like he couldn’t believe she would say such a thing.

Well, she _had_ said it. It was out. Nothing to do but to continue on down whatever path she had stumbled onto.

Rey sniffed. “I said—”

“I _heard_ what you said,” Ben interrupted. His closed mouth worked. “Did you mean it?”

She couldn’t glean anything from his question. There was no hope, no disgust, no excitement, no suspicion. It was like talking to a tall, brooding statue.

“Yeah,” she said, and frowned at the horses in the corral. “I suppose.”

For a moment, he stared at her as if wrestling with some critical decision, then without a word, he swiped the hat from his head, hung it on a fence post, and stomped over to her. One large hand pressed against her lower back while the other cupped her head under her ear, and then before she could properly gasp in surprise, his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding, his lips moving as if to consume her. Every piece of her that said this was a mistake shriveled up and dissolved in the liquid heat that spread throughout her limbs. Her gasp deepened into a throaty moan when his tongue ran along her lower lip. The horse-spit-covered hat fell to the dirt, forgotten.

Yeah, so she’d lied to him. Of all of her kisses, that brief one between bars had been the most intense she’d experienced.

At least, until this one.

She was well aware that he knew his way around lip-mashing, but at the moment, he seemed to be intent on proving himself with every flick of his tongue and slow glide of his lips.

Her legs wobbled. She flung her arms around his neck for balance, and the action shoved her breasts against the solid mass of his chest. He groaned into her mouth, the soft sound of a man committing himself to drowning, and she felt it down to her toes.

Rey didn’t know when they’d shuffled over to the corral post. When her back thudded against it, she let out a small cry. Ben pulled away and sucked in a rattling breath through reddened, parted lips. His gaze roamed over her face as if he was having a difficult time believing this was real. In this bright light, standing so close to him, she could see that his irises weren’t as dark as she’d first thought: they were as rich and golden as a dram of whiskey and made her feel just as tipsy.

If he stopped now, they would be forced to think about what was happening, and Rey didn’t want to think.

She snaked her fingers through his soft, thick hair and dragged him down to her hungry mouth.

When she’d imagined this, she’d pictured him taking her roughly: wild and uncontrolled, everything happening in a flash. Instead, he was slow and thorough in every action, whether it was the practiced stroke of his tongue against hers, the light fingers that caressed her neck, or each subtle grind of his hips as he pressed her harder against the post. She was pinned by the mass of his body; even if she could move, she wouldn’t want to. Rey hardly cared that they were in broad daylight, in the middle of a goddamn town, with a passerby that just hooted something undoubtedly lewd.

“Hey!” An outraged shout rang from the inside the saloon and they leapt from each other as if scalded.

Her legs trembled and her breath came in trembling gasps. Sweet mother of _shit_ . If she’d known what kissing him was like— _really_ kissing, not that confined bullshit—she would have tried something much sooner.

More shouting came from the saloon, followed by sharp cracks and the sound of a chair flying against a wall.

Two men dragged a third, dark-haired man through the swinging doors and unceremoniously threw him into the dirt.

Rey sucked her teeth as Poe pulled himself to his feet and brushed the soil from his pants.

“Probably should check on that one,” Ben said in a voice so low and thick that it made Rey want to spin around and leap on him again.

Instead, she quickly nodded and bobbed through the fence.

“What’d you do this time?” she said when she reached Poe, and her voice wasn’t nearly as steady as she hoped it would be.

“That’s not important,” Poe said. The way his eyes glittered with excitement gave Rey pause. Whenever he looked like this, he usually had a plan, and when Poe had a plan, something always went terribly wrong.

Rey put on her most Leia-esque glare. “Poe?”

His grin was borderline unhinged.

“I just learned that the bank received a big delivery yesterday. Train dropped it off.” He looked over his shoulder at the busy saloon before sidling up closer. “They’re keeping it in the safe against a wall. It’s gonna be like taking a carrot from a legless horse. One big boom, and it’s ours!”

Rey smacked his chest. He didn’t even seem to notice her frantic glower. “We’re supposed to lay low, you idiot!” she hissed. “Do you know what blowing things up counts as?”

“A good day?”

She smacked him again. “It counts as _not_ laying low, you...you...weasel!”

“How did you find out about the safe?”

Rey whirled at Ben’s words, heart pounding. The man was massive; how in blazes was he always able to sneak up on her?

“Why’s it matter?” Poe said, about to ignore Ben; but Ben’s glare must have had more power, and Poe visibly caved.

“We were shuffling cards with a gent from the Devil’s Hand, and he let slip that it’s their next target.”

Ben took a step towards Poe. There was something different about him now: the loose lines of his body had become so tight that Rey could easily imagine him snapping like a strained branch.

“The Devil’s Hand is here?” Ben said, and the muscles in his jaw pulsed. “You can’t be serious.”

Poe only smiled. “Serious as a dead tooth, Benny Boy.” He pointed to the bustling corral. “They’ve brought their friends too, it looks like.”

Rey held up a hand. “Wait. They just up and told you their plan?”

He shrugged his shoulders under his scraped tawny jacket. “He didn’t _tell_ me, more as I just happened to overhear.”

Finally, Rey’s furious stare registered.

“More as I just happened to overhear while listening to a glass against a closed door.” Poe practically vibrated with impatience. “But that’s not important.”

Ben couldn’t seem to stand still either, and she found that the marshal’s anxiety was seeping into her own mind.

Of course Rey had heard of the Devil’s Hand. Who out here _hadn’t_? They were outlaws and villains. They robbed. They stole from banks and train cars. They ran off cattle and cheated at cards. Why would the big, strong, lawful Ben Solo (she could actually use his last name, thank goodness) be so afraid?

“Poe.” She bit out his name like she wanted nothing more than to cut it in half. “General said—”

But Poe interrupted her with a loud scoff of disbelief. “Come on, Vic. This ain’t like you. We got a free meal here. A _free meal_. When have you ever wanted to turn that down?”

Two sets of judgmental eyes pinned her in place, and she felt like a rabbit trapped between the coyote and the wolf.

Ben sent a worried glance to the saloon. “We’ve gotta get out of here. You don’t get between a Devil’s Hand and whatever it’s trying to grab.”

Perhaps, as a marshal, he’d heard more of the Devil’s Hand than mere gossip and rumor. Perhaps this band was more than they could handle.

“Poe,” she said slowly, “Maybe we should just go.”

Ben started for the corral. “It’d be safer to brush your teeth with a rattler than to try and steal anything they’ve got their sights on,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s too foolish, even for you lot.”

 _‘Even for you lot’_? Rey opened her mouth to shout an indignant response, but Ben spun around and cut her off.

“If we want to keep breathing, we leave before anything terrible happens.”

Behind him, Rey could see three figures sprinting away from the bank.

“Poe?”

“Yeah, Vic?”

Rey’s palms suddenly felt much too slippery. “Where’s Amilyn?”

“Er...well…”

The explosion caught them all by surprise. The ground jolted under Rey’s feet, and she staggered. Dust, flame, and debris bloomed from the bank wall like a horrific floral bouquet. Horses screamed and thundered in the corral, rattling against the pine beams, and cries pierced the dry air.

They were plucked. Most assuredly, they were well and truly plucked.

Poe looked about as ashamed as a fox in a henhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF. Hope this wasn’t *too* angsty, but Rey’s gotta have a tragic backstory, ya know? (I’m like Oprah with tragic backstories. Tragic backstories for everyone! You get a tragic backstory! And *you* get a tragic backstory!)  
> Thanks for reading, commenting, Tumblring (Tumbling?), and for staying aboard this rollicking smut-train! It breezed through Smutville this chapter, but I promise you, longer stops are ahead.  
> Note: I’ve modified history a bit here. (GASP.) Buffalo Bill’s Wild West wasn’t started until 1883, but because this fic takes place in 1880, I fudged it a bit. Sorry, history, I hope you’ll understand--I did it for the smut.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally have a shootout, and this fic begins to earn its delightful little 'E' rating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optional auditory mood-setting: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5up5B9n7ICA (Horns, Bryce Fox)

The explosion tore through Ben’s calm like cattle stampeding through a length of twine. His pulse pounded in his skull and it felt like all of the saliva in his mouth had dried up. Dust and smoke still billowed out of the broken bank as panic started its syrupy spread through the town.

People screamed and cried, and stuck their heads out of windows and doorways. Somewhere, a child wailed. Several men ran, shouting, in the direction of the bank.

Ben could barely see through the dust, but he made out the silhouettes of three people galloping away from the bank and out of town. That would be the other Rebels, then. When in blazes had they had time to get their horses?

How long had that kiss _been?_ His skin warmed at the thought of her soft lips and grasping hands. Heavens —he could think for days about how kissing her had felt like playing with a wildfire; or how the moment her body had yielded against his own, he’d been convinced for a second that his feet were no longer on the ground; but he smacked those memories away. Now was not the time.

The saloon doors slammed open with a crack and he spun just as four men in long, brown jackets burst onto the front deck. Small, black painted hands adorned the breast of each man’s jacket.

“The hell?” one bellowed. His meaty hand came up to shield his eyes as he stared at the plume of smoke.

The four of them didn’t even spare a glance at Ben, Rey, or Poe.

Ben took a step towards the corral. If he could get to the horses, they could gallop into the distance with none of these Hands any the wiser.

“Thanks for the tip, asswipe!” Poe shouted with a jovial wave.

_Fucking hell._

Wherever the Devil’s Hand stayed, death wasn’t far behind.

The Rebels were thieves. They stole anything from weapons, to gold, to horseflesh to stacks of freshly-printed cash, but they never took lives for nothing else but the sake of doing so. The Devil’s Hand were murderers. Sure, the Rebels left behind their share of injuries—gunshots, burns from an explosion—but they’d never pinned someone to a wall with knives and vivisected them.

Ben would have been utterly delighted to go his life without interacting with a single member of the Devil’s Hand, and now Poe had just made enemies of them all.

If he and Poe got out of this alive, he was going to throttle that man.

The quartet of Hands pulled out their weapons and started firing as Rey and Poe pulled out their pistols. Ben yanked his own revolver from its holster.

Why on earth would Ben want to keep following this group with the intent to arrest and jail them, when they would just get themselves shot? He should just grab his horse and ride right out of Shiprock and let their bullet-riddled bodies lay in the dust.

A woman’s cry rang out, and he turned to see Rey’s hat tumbling to the dirt with a perfect bullet hole through the top. She ducked into a crouch and aimed her pistol, but Ben grabbed the back of her jacket and yanked her behind him, shielding her small body with his own. He fired back at who he assumed to be the shooter, a grungy man with a handlebar mustache, and the window beside the man shattered.

Fuck this pistol. Ben needed his rifle, which was on his horse, who was currently in the writhing mass of horseflesh inside the corral.

“What are you—” Rey started before Ben grabbed her jacket once more and tugged her to the corral.

Bullets screamed through the air and pelted the dirt by Ben’s boots and he tugged harder, only letting go when her elbow cracked into his ribcage. In the time it took for him to draw a breath and shout at her, she steadied herself and fired at the men on the porch. Ben could hardly see her do it, it was so fast: aim, fire, palm back the hammer with her other hand, aim, fire. Each time, a long-jacketed man fell.

Ben could have watched her all day. It had been idiotic to shove Rey behind him; _he_ should probably be the one hiding behind _her._

“Go, dammit!” Poe shouted and it jerked Ben back to the terrible present, filled with scores of furious outlaws. Several rifles stuck out of open windows and around the corners of buildings, and the air was alive with rattling, crackling gunfire. Bullets chased him as he raced to the corral, and he allowed himself a brief glance over his shoulder to make sure Rey was only a few paces behind.

Right as he made it to the corral fence, the horses surged in their direction and rattled the timbers. Hooves smashed against wood, soil, and hide, heads tossed wildly in the air, and yellow teeth snapped.

“Like hell I’m going in there,” Ben heard Rey mutter behind him. He had to agree with her; if they vaulted into the corral, they would be hard-pressed to find their own horses before some other beast crushed them.

“I have an idea,” Poe said.

When Rey punched the dark-haired man, Ben could swear he felt his heart soar. If he could watch her shoot all day, he could watch her punch presumptive, self-righteous, trigger-happy flyboys all _year_.

“You’ve had enough ideas, dickbrains!” she screamed. She wrestled with the wire holding the corral gate together, pausing for just long enough to fire and send a rifleman tumbling from a second-story window.

Then the gate swung open, and forty-some horses galloped into freedom. The wind from their bodies almost blasted Ben backwards and he gripped the post for stability. Another round of furious bellows rang out above the neighs and hoofbeats; Ben could pick out, ‘Horses!’ and ‘Shit!’.

Tie’s head bobbed above the others, the whites of his eyes rolling in panic. Holstering his pistol, Ben threw out a hand, and right as the big black horse passed, he wrapped his fingers around the pommel and flung himself into the saddle. The rifle hissed as he pulled it from its scabbard and it was the second-most melodious sound he’d heard that day: the first being whatever kind of little gasping moan had been pressed into his mouth.

_Focus, Solo._

Tie’s gallop did nothing to hinder Ben’s aim. He pulled the rifle to his shoulder, sighted a man with a long, black ponytail who was pointing a revolver at Rey, and fired. The man stumbled backwards and toppled off the saloon’s porch. A crank of the lever-action and he fired again, right through the painted black hand on another man’s jacket.

No... _that_ was the second-best sound he’d heard all day: that satisfying, clicking crunch of the rifle’s reload, the soft ‘ping’ of an empty shell.

The thrill surged through his veins like the headiest alcohol. Casings flew from his rifle and men fell as he struck them down.

Ben looked over his shoulder, and when he saw that only Poe followed him, his stomach dropped. Rey was still by the corral, swinging wildly against the man who’d taken a handful of her shirt and was pulling his fist back for a punch. Another nearby man wrenched her arms behind her back, neatly dodging her attempted headbutt.

A kick to Tie’s side and tug at the reins, and the horse wheeled about to gallop in her direction.

“Where are you going?” Poe shouted. Ben ignored him. Fuck that man.

He was too late. The Hand’s fist collided with Rey’s jaw, making her head snap backwards violently. Fury burned through Ben like an inferno and his vision flared red. He wanted to wrench the bastard away, break his fingers, crush his nose. Shooting him would just have to do. Ben lifted the rifle and fired, and the Hand was blasted off his feet. The second one swiveled to Ben, his mouth in a near-perfect ‘o’ until Rey’s elbow cracked into his temple.

Ben slowed Tie into a canter, transferred the rifle to one hand and held the other out to her. A speck of blood bloomed in the corner of her mouth and Ben felt something awful twist inside of him.

For a moment, Rey looked between the collapsed man at her feet and the man approaching on a galloping black horse as if she wanted nothing more than to put a hole through the Hand’s skull. In the end, she delivered a fierce kick to the prone man’s stomach and grabbed Ben’s hand as Tie flew past.

Her scramble onto the horse wasn’t graceful, judging by the yelps and the grasping hands getting a little too rough with his midsection, yet Ben’s calm began to return as her arms settled around his waist. She whistled over her shoulder, and Ben saw the orange paint race after them, empty stirrups flopping comically at his sides.

Since the smaller horse had no riders, he caught up to them easily. Feeling Rey reposition herself behind him, he shouted, “What are you doing?”

“He can’t take both of us,” she said into his ear. “We’ll go faster on our own.” Her breath stirred against his skin and his chest tightened. Before he could yell out a word of caution, Rey swung both legs to one side, jumped, and landed on her own horse’s saddle.

She must have caught Ben staring agape, for she flashed a cat-like smile and winked at him, then kicked her horse into a racing gallop.

With her wink, he found his mind wandering to last night, and the conversation across a lazy fire. Why in blazes had he _winked_ at _her_? And over a penis joke? He’d been with an outlaw gang for less than twenty-four hours, and he was already shooting up a town, claiming he stole horses, and insinuating his dick size to a near-stranger.

The flustered blush on her cheeks had justified it, though.

Ben swallowed as he urged Tie faster and barely managed to not miss the feel of her arms around him.

It was better like this, he told himself. It was better, because their horses could carry one person more easily than one horse could carry two. It was better, because then he wouldn’t be thinking of how it felt to have her body pressed against his own. It was better, because she wouldn’t be saddled next to a U.S. Marshal who derived a worrisome amount of pleasure from gunfights.

Having an outlaw enjoy a shootout was as ordinary as sun in July, but...a lawman? One didn’t pin on a badge in order to spill blood.

Or, well, all right, _some_ did, but Ben wasn’t going to consider himself one of them; he pinned on the badge in order to stop the blood from spilling, to uphold justice, and to rein in whatever part of himself loved the fight.

After a quick glance over his shoulder, he slammed his rifle back into its scabbard. A plume of dust followed them, but they had enough of a head start that shooting from this distance wouldn’t be of any use.

His eyes drifted to the woman riding alongside him. She was a good shot—no, an _amazing_ shot —yet he was certain this was the first of their robberies to end in death. Every new poster, article, and letter had written of what had been stolen along with the various injuries. Every time, there was no death count. If she had wanted to kill a teller, a clerk, or a conductor, she could do it with little effort.

But she hadn’t. Neither had any of the Rebels.

Ben had always thought that there was a line between the good and the bad. It had never been a solid line—just a blurred strip between the light and the dark, but there nonetheless, always present. Lawmen stood proudly in the brightness, while outlaws skulked in the black.

He was in that grey strip now: a young man who had swung the butt of his rifle into the head of a bank teller, a lawman who had been part of a robbery, a man who didn’t truly know where he belonged.

When Rey looked over her shoulder at the town, Ben could see her confliction in the firm set of her bloody lip and the hardness in her eyes.

He might not know his place, but perhaps he wasn’t alone.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was low when the group finally lost their pursuers. Through his binoculars, Ben could see seven or eight of the Devil’s Hand as they searched for tracks, then watched as they gave up and rode back to Shiprock.

Dinner was a quiet event. Once Maz climbed into the wagon, Ben joined the others in their nightly ritual of scraping the gravy from their tin plates.

No one lit a fire. By the time everyone except the first watch bedded down for the night, the full moon was casting a silver glow on the cottonwood trees.

Ben lay on his back on his bedroll and stared up at the inky sky. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves and hushed the crickets momentarily, and someone rattled a loud snore off to his right. Horses scraped their hooves against the dirt. A low thud and a huff signaled one beast lowering itself to lie on its side.

The group had pushed their horses as hard as possible. Someone had theorized that the Devil’s Hand would expect them to travel up the wider Animas River, whose water was clear and cool from the Rockies, so instead, they were now camped along the La Plata. Ben wouldn’t trade the shallow river for an ambush by more Hands, anyway.

When he’d been tracking the group, he’d been confused by their sudden turn to the east; now that they journeyed north, he was even more confused. Where exactly were they headed? Towards Denver? Wyoming? _Canada_? And how long did he expect to stay with them?

A twig cracked and Ben’s attention snapped to the other end of the camp. A figure moved carefully among the sleepers, and he was about to reach for his rifle when moonline shone on a heart-shaped face,  high cheekbones, and shoulder-length hair. She was making her way towards him.

Ben panicked and shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

 _Coward_ , he thought to himself.

What would he say to her? What was she even coming to _do?_

_‘Hey, Ben. Your bedroll big enough for two?’_

Of course, his mind went directly to _that._  That wasn’t it. Of course not. Sure, they’d kissed twice, and she seemed to enjoy it both times, yet...surrounded by her friends? With a _Marshal?_  In his _bedroll?_  The idea sent a flare of excitement through him, and he wrestled the idea into submission.

Her steps stopped next to him.

More likely, she needed extra bullets, or she was going to ask to borrow his hat. Although it wouldn’t fit at all, he had to admit that she would look mighty—

The saddlebag by his shoulder shifted.

He could reach out, right now, and snare her wrist, pin her here and ask what the Devil she was doing, but by the time he opened his eyes, she was gone.

Ben whispered a curse and whipped the bedroll to the side. He could see her in the moonlight, hurrying towards the river with an object held in her hand.

He struggled to his feet and stalked after her, betrayal forming a bitter lump in his throat. She’d opened up to him, told him her awful secret, and he’d thought for a second that she was more than a thief.

What had he expected? Surround yourself with thieves, and expect to be stolen from.

Snoke’s words buzzed at him like a persistent bee: _The moment that you think an outlaw is anything more than a beast to be hunted and put down, the moment you let down your guard, that’s the moment that’ll kill you._

Ben’s guard had been so low he could practically stomp on it.

He paused at the edge of the gulch formed by the La Plata and frowned down at her through the stands of high grass and thick gambel oaks. Whatever she had taken, she was bringing to the river. Had she grabbed his journal with the intent to drench it? Or his gunpowder?

At the bank, she crouched and pulled off her boots, then rolled up the hems of her pants and waded into the water until it came to the middle of her shins. Ben frowned more deeply. As she unwrapped the parcel in her hands, he let out a heavy sigh of relief.

The soap cake gleamed as white as snow in the moonlight. Rey bent low and sloshed it in the river before dunking her head and scrubbing the soap into her saturated hair.

He felt awfully voyeuristic watching her wash. She rubbed the lather against her scalp as if she relished every second of it, even tipping her head backwards and letting out a soft sigh into the night.

That sigh brought him back to the moment she’d taken his coffee in the sheriff’s building. Like the satisfied groan that had come from her as she’d sipped his coffee (freshly-brewed, twice-ground, meticulously-made, not that it still bothered him at _all)_ , this sigh seemed more appropriate in a bedroom; it was an unabashed demonstration of utter pleasure, and just like before, it made the front of his trousers feel slightly too tight.

Ben didn’t realize he was gripping the oak branch until the bark dug painfully into his palm. His hands had become sweaty, and he wiped them on his trousers.

Rey bent over once more and submerged her head, then stood, flipping her dark hair against her neck with a loud slap. The light shirt she wore clung to her torso as river water trickled along her back. She reminded him of a siren: powerful, graceful, and dangerous. One word from her lips and he would be powerless and lured to a watery grave. He wasn’t entirely sure how a six-foot wide, shin-deep river would be the death of him, but stranger things had happened.

Step by step, he descended into the gulch as if entranced. He was halfway down to the river when one of Rey’s feet landed on an uneven stone. She wobbled and let out a gurgling squawk.

A different kind of siren, then. His huff of laughter was louder than he’d thought it would be, and Rey jumped at the noise. Her hand flashed to her hip before she realized that her gun belt was back at the camp. With a motion almost fast as her draw, she darted a hand under the water and grabbed a decent-sized rock from the riverbed, spinning about to face him.

“It’s me,” Ben said softly and held up his palms.

“Oh.” The rock fell into the water with a ‘ploink.’ She cleared her throat. “Come to see what I stole from you this time?”

“Maybe,” he said as he continued down to the water’s edge.

“Sorry.” Rey gave a quick smile and looked at the soap in her hands. “Probably should have asked.”

“How’s your face?”

She brought a hand up to her lip as if she’d forgotten about the punch by the corral, then shrugged. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve had worse.”

He would have responded, but her expression made him pause. He had only really known her for a day, yet he could tell that something was amiss. So he stood on the bank, hands in his pockets, and waited.

Rey took a shallow breath.

“Do you ever feel dirty, after?” Her voice was as quiet as the breeze through the cottonwoods.

“After what?”

“After k—” She swallowed harshly. “After killing someone.” Her lips pressed tightly together as she stared at the white soap cake.

Ben kicked off his boots and socks, then waded into the water without a thought for his soaked trousers. It wasn’t as cold as he’d expected. Sand squeezed through his toes and small rocks dug into his heels. When he reached her, she let him take the soap without a word. He worked up a thick lather then set the soap on a nearby rock.

 _No,_ the proud part of him wanted to reply. _I never feel that way. It’s my duty, and my job. It’s nothing to me._

He took her hands in his soapy ones and rubbed the backs of her knuckles, the creases across her palms, the ends of her fingers.

“Every time,” he said.

There was a callus on each of her index fingers from BeeBee’s reins, and as he massaged the soap into them, he couldn’t help but marvel at the way his hands completely enveloped her. He felt like a giant beside her; like a looming monster; like he was going to crush her without realizing. His thumbs brushed against the soft skin of her wrists while she tentatively explored the calluses on his palms. But, _Lord_ , she fit so nicely within him.

Rey’s breath hitched, and he wondered if she was noticing the same thing.

Still watching how their fingers played over one another, he nearly missed her next words.

“How do you cope with it?” she mumbled.

“Distractions help.”

Together, they crouched in the water. She could have easily rinsed her own hands, but that would mean he would have had to let go. He stood first, fingers still playing over her soft, clean skin, and she followed him up.  

Hell, she was close. Rey stared at his lips and even though the light was soft and silvery, he could swear that her cheeks were growing flushed.

“What kind of distractions, Ben?” Her voice brushed against him, low and breathy. The spill of his name from her lips made a low, primal part of him rise up in victory. Had she spoken it before? If she had, Ben couldn't remember. It hadn’t felt like _this._

“The usual sorts,” he rumbled.

One of her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. “Show me?”

He may have botched that first time in the corral, when apparently she hadn’t _actually_ been wanting him to practice kissing with someone else before he tried it with her again, but Ben was nothing if not a fast learner.

Her head tipped back as he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. He’d meant it to be tender. Sweet. She had been hurting and he wanted to make it all better. He wanted to take away her pain.

Rey had other ideas.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pressed him closer until all he could feel was her warm body, and all he could taste was the sweetness of her mouth. She nibbled at his lower lip until he groaned; twisted her fingers in his hair until he gasped; tangled her tongue against his in an urgent dance.

Fingers scrabbled at his shirt, untucking it from his trousers and making Ben more than a little glad that he only slept in the button-down and not his vest and jacket. He was delirious at the feeling of her small hands sweeping across his chest and across the planes of his abdomen, intoxicated by the way her every movement sent a jolt of fire directly to his groin. Her satisfied moan and the clench of her fingers spurred him onwards, and he fumbled with the buttons on her—no, _his —_shirt (God, she was still wearing it, and he loved it). He slid a large palm through the new opening, pulling back just far enough to devour the way the moonlight gleamed on her damp collarbones, before cupping one of her small, perfect breasts.

Rey cried out and arched against him, and the motion shoved her pert nipple into his palm.

Ben wouldn’t normally admit to having fondled any number of breasts, but in this instance, it would only be to support the theory that hers were the most exquisite he’d ever touched. Still, it was only a theory, which mean that cupping one of them in each hand was just a way to test that theory.

Perfect. Exquisite. Was this actually happening? Were they ravishing each other’s mouths in the middle of the night, in the middle of a stream, in the middle of nowhere?

She clutched his arm, shoving herself further into him and let out a little cry of delight against his lips when he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Yes, this was definitely happening, if his growing erection had anything to say about it.

Rey leaned back and looked up at him, eyes wide and lips shining. She gently grasped one of his hands in hers, and began to drag it down her torso.

“I want you to, um…” She bit her lip and heaven help him if just the sight made his cock twitch. “I mean, if you’d like to, I-I’d like you to…” She pulled his hand down the soft expanse of her belly until it reached the top button of her trousers.

If Ben didn’t know any better, he’d think she were nervous. Did she honestly think he would scoff at her for this? Deny her?

“Touch me? Here?” she whispered as the tips of his fingers ghosted over the front seam of her pants.

“Oh, God yes,” Ben groaned, bringing her close and kissing her once more. The trouser buttons came apart easily and soon his hand was drifting lower on her skin, down through her soft curls, feathering over the achingly soft skin of her clitoris.

Rey pressed her face into his neck, her gasps coming hot and frantic. He rubbed her gently at first, and then harder as her hips bucked against him, seemingly urging him lower, _deeper._

But Ben wasn’t finished exploring. The pads of his fingers traced every curve and every slippery ridge of her sex: mapping her in his mind, memorizing each millimeter of skin and which spots made her moan and clutch him tighter.

Another buck of her hips, and she whispered a trembling plea into his ear:

“Ben, _please."_

Complying was the best sort of surrender. He slipped one long digit into her and his groan was met with her sharp whimper. Her cunt was drenched and warm and she gripped him so tightly that he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from coming in his pants like a teenager.

When Ben began to thrust within her, she clutched his shoulders desperately and shuddered, and he had to wrap an arm around her waist to hold her upright. His lips skimmed her cheek, her ear, the soft skin of her neck.

He added a second finger, and her resulting cry came out as a choked sob, her breath stuttering into his chest. He moved faster, harder, grinding the heel of his hand against her taut bundle of nerves, then she stiffened and stared up at him in wonder.

“I’m...Ben, I’m…” Rey sucked in a gasp as her brows furrowed. He captured her mouth under his to muffle her high cry: a moan that bordered on a scream. His fingers didn’t stop; they pounded into her, urging her orgasm onwards while her sweet cunt convulsed around him.

Only when Rey sagged against his arm did Ben slow, then cease his motions.

The wind tickled the cottonwood leaves above and rustled the grasses along the riverbank, and it almost seemed as if her gulping breaths moved along with it. The cool wet of the river on his feet clashed with the feel of her hot, slippery climax on his hand; for a moment, he felt strangely balanced by it all.

He nuzzled Rey’s damp hair, breathing in the smells of his soap, the river, and a scent that was very specifically _her_. Sweat glistened on her neck, and his eyes fastened on a single drop that trickled down to the valley between her breasts. His fingers were still moving within her in lazy strokes. Just the thought of how she would feel around his cock made him as hard as the stones under his feet. She was hotter than sin against his body, and, _oh_ _Lord_ , the sounds she’d made…

Rey let out a small, contented sigh.

“I’ve…it’s n-never...I haven’t…” Her words were almost slurred.

Ben froze.

 _Fuck._  Had she been innocent? Had he gone and deflowered her in the middle of a stream, like some sort of barbarian? Guilt surged within him and he eased his fingers out of her warmth, Rey shuddering at the withdrawal.

“Thank you,” she said and gave him the most sated smile he’d ever seen.

Ben wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. He hadn’t been thanked for an orgasm before.

“Um,” he mumbled finally. “Anytime.”

Her forehead flopped against his chest and she ran a hand down the open collar of his shirt. The tips of her fingers brushed against his sternum and hovered over his thundering heart.

“No one’s ever bothered to do that,” she said.

Ben found himself struck by the way she spoke; it was in the same sort of tone that someone would say, ‘The weather seems warm today.’ He felt no more guilt, just...confusion. So she hadn't been innocent then. Or at least, not in the way he'd thought. He stared down at her, and, seeming to feel his gaze, she drew away from his chest.

“No one?” he said in disbelief.

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You’re the first, Marsh.”

It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help the pride that swept over him at those words. A sliver of some deep, possessive part of himself rose up and hollered to lay claim to her and make sure that he’d be the first...and the only.

 _Goddammit, Ben._  He shoveled _that_ thought out of his mind. She was a woman, not a parcel of land.

Oblivious to his internal chastisement, Rey glanced down at the hand that had been inside her and bit her lip.

“Probably should wash that,” she said with an amused smile.

Wash it? He could do better. He didn’t break her gaze as he brought his fingers to his lips. His tongue dragged along the pads and then sucked them into his mouth, and he groaned as the heady taste of her filled his senses.

The look he gave her afterwards was undoubtedly wholly wicked, and she responded with a noise that settled solidly between choked moan and desperate whine. From the look on her face, it appeared that her breathing had stopped.

Rey threw herself at him then, so fiercely that he almost stumbled backwards. Before he could mumble a word against her wild kisses, she’d snaked a hand into his trousers and made a valiant effort to close it around his cock.

“Oh!” she said, her eyes going wide. She let out a nervous yip of laughter. “A _really_ big gun.”

“Whoa, there.” He gently lifted her hand out of his pants, even though it nearly caused him physical pain to do so. “Not here.”

He still wanted her, more than he could ever articulate, but he’d be damned if it happened like this. Whatever sexual experiences she’d had—whatever fumblings and frantic couplings that had occurred without a single thought for her pleasure—Ben wanted to outshine them all, and he couldn’t see any outshining happening in a ditch next to a glorified stream.

“You’re right,” Rey said, “the riverbed’s not too stable.” She glanced around. “There’s probably a boulder nearby that you could bend me over.” She slipped one of her suspender straps from her shoulder, then seemed to see an inviting surface. Grabbing Ben’s hand, she took a step downstream, but he carefully tugged her to stillness.

“No,” he said. “I mean...not here. Not now.” His fingers were tender as they pulled the suspender back onto her shoulder.

Confusion creased her brows. “You don’t want to?” Her eyes darted to the erection that tented the front of his trousers.

Ben closed his eyes and pursed his lips and barely managed not to say, ' _Keep him out of this.'_

“I want to more than anything.” A steadying breath, and he said, “But if we did this right now, I’d be rutting you by a riverbed like an animal. If I were to take you, you should be naked and spread out on something comfortable.”

 _It’s what you deserve,_  he finished in his head.

“Oh,” she breathed. It wasn’t an ‘oh’ of disappointment, but an ‘oh’ of wonder and excitement. A puckish grin pulled at her lips.

“Ben, with words like that, you can’t possibly expect me to keep my hands off your mighty pole, there.”

He winced. “Good Lord, don’t call it that.”

With a pout, Rey fingered the top close of his trousers. “Belly-tickler?”

Ben winced again at the name, still aware of exactly where her fingers were in relation to his now-throbbing member.

“Love stick?”

It had never seemed possible to laugh when so aroused, but he huffed out a chuckle.

She stepped closer to him and her toes brushed against his in the river.

“Trouser serpent?” She was holding back her laugh all while cupping him through his trousers.

Fort the first time in his life, mirth and lust waged a battle in his body and his mind, yet when her hand started to dip beneath his waistband, he caught it, again.

“What’s the matter, Marsh?” she whispered.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said gently. “I didn’t touch you just so I could be touched in return.”

“I know.” She gave him a coquettish smile. “I’d really like to, though. If you’ll let me.”

She bit her lip again, and her expression was  filled with such honest excitement that he caved. As soon as he released her hand, she unfastened his pants as if she couldn’t get them open fast enough.

Her fingers traced his cock, light and tentative, and she slid her palm along his length. She explored him just as he’d done to her: slowly, carefully, discovering what made him bite out ragged groans and what made his thighs tremble. _Shit,_ now he knew why she’d begged him for more; ecstasy loomed just over the hill, but the trail was awful winding.

Cool air drifted across his member and he looked down to see that she’d pulled him out of his trousers. The sight of her nimble hand moving along his veined, purpled shaft sent a shock through his body, and when she squeezed the head, he felt the telltale tingle in his testicles. He splayed his hand across the small of her back as if to steady himself against the oncoming tide.

“Oh!” Rey suddenly said, and suddenly her hands were gone and she was turning away. “Don’t move!”

Ben nearly wept. “Not going anywhere,” he said in a strangled grunt.

He stood in the stream with his cock jutting out like a most ridiculous flag as she lunged for the soap he’d set down earlier. She dropped it onto the rock after building a lather between her palms.

Ben frowned. “I could have washed before you started, if you’d let me know.”

She leveled an unamused look at him. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you—”

Her rasp of laughter interrupted him, and she rolled her eyes. Then she was in front of him once more, her soapy hands surrounding his cock, gliding across his skin, every sensation slippery and wet and warm.

_Oh._

He clutched her waist so tightly that for a moment, he worried it would bruise, but she only wriggled closer to him. His breaths were ragged and quick, each one fluttering the damp hair by her ear. She moved faster, gripped harder, twisted her wrist in such a way that sent stars skittering across his eyes.

“I’ve thought about you a lot, Ben,” she said into his neck.

“Tell me,” he practically choked.

A tiny, wanton sigh brushed against his skin.

“That first night, after I locked you up, I lay awake and thought about how your lips felt on me.”

He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb across her plump lower lip.

Rey closed her eyes and smiled under his touch.

“I thought about how your eyes felt on my body. Dark and hungry.”

There wasn’t enough air in his lungs.

“And…” She paused. “I thought about your fingers.” Her smile was downright impish. “I _really_ thought about your fingers.”

It was her turn to kiss him, then, and as his gasps shuddered against her lips and a cracked groan burst from his lungs, the swirling tide of orgasm overtook his body. His eyes opened just in time to watch the jet of his cum spurt through the air and into the river.

They stood there, foreheads pressed tightly together, until Ben started to breathe normally again. After the soap was rinsed from his softening cock, she tucked him into his trousers.

She was perfect, Ben thought as he kissed her, his hands framing her face. She was given nothing, but deserved everything. This kiss was drowsier than the first; where there had been urgency, now there was contentment.

A little satisfied sigh escaped from Rey as she nestled against him, and Ben could feel his marshal’s badge digging into his chest. He’d shoved it into the breast pocket of his button-up, too worried that it would fall out of a saddlebag or his jacket at an inopportune time, but it was there—cold and solid, forever between the two of them.

If he let himself, Ben could wallow in the failure that was this plan: instead of gaining information and making it easier for him or anyone else to capture the group, he’d fallen into the beautiful arms of one of its members.

_What would Snoke do if he saw you now?_

That inner voice, so filled with malice and despair, raked across Ben’s gut like a set of talons.

Without a doubt, Ben knew that Snoke would scream at him, release him from his position as U.S. Marshal, and shoot him. The order of those actions was the only part about which Ben felt uncertain.

All his life, he’d tried to do the just thing, and it was either too much or not enough. Maybe, he thought, maybe he should stop trying.

Or maybe he would stop thinking, because he was standing in pale moonlight, mouth-to-mouth with a woman who simultaneously vexed, charmed, and inspired him. Existential musings could wait.

Rey pressed a last little kiss to the corner of his mouth.  

“Tell me what you’d do if we weren’t here,” she said. “If we were somewhere comfortable.”

A thousands images raced through his mind, faster than he could speak: her body beneath him, pressed into a mattress; her body above him, breasts bouncing as she took him; her skin drenched with their combined fluids; the way she would writhe under his hands and his mouth; how she’d scream his name as he pushed inside of her for the first time…

Ben didn’t know where to begin.

“For starters,” he said, breath shuddering as his cock twitched against her thigh, “I’d—”

A rattling of stones and the crack of branches blasted dread through him faster than a gunshot.

The water at their feet splashed as they spun together. Ben nearly threw Rey behind him, expecting the white-hot sting of lead, when a familiar, amused voice floated down from the trees.

“What’cha two doin’ down there?”

It sounded like Poe was smiling.

 _Fuck_ that man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I said there would be sex in dirt in the synopsis, but I’ve decided that I can be a bit pickier about how I write my porn. Sex in dirt would be wildly unhygienic, especially in the west in the 1880s. I may be writing AU Western porn about pre-existing Star Wars characters, but I still have standards, dammit. And so do my characters.
> 
> P.S. Has anyone been listening to the Auditory mood setting music? Would it be better to share a playlist of them all? 
> 
> P.P.S. In my efforts to research this work (because looking up historically accurate genital slang is just one of the many ways I excel at procrastinating), I discovered this fantastic site that documents slang from 1250 to the modern day for both genders: https://io9.gizmodo.com/two-timelines-of-slang-for-genitalia-from-1250-through-1157205966
> 
> You’re welcome, dear readers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, it's been a while since an update, but dear, wonderful readers, I'm planning on making it all up to you this chapter.  
> Optional auditory mood-setting: Ecstasy of Gold, Ennio Morricone (Yo Yo Ma version)  
> 

Ohdang! I made a 'Wanted' Youtube playlist; watch it [here!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLT4RuyR0WeEAAKAPU96s68w8yR9VTrIdt)

 

* * *

 

“It’ll be fine.”

Rey glared at Poe as she chewed her stale biscuit. He was leaning against the wagon wheel, looking to the world like he’d just won an entire mining company in a hand of poker. Amilyn paced in front of him, occasionally shooting scalding words in his direction.

Finn stood, arms crossed, and copied Rey’s glare.

Amilyn paused her pacing long enough to say, “You didn’t tell us they were Devil’s Hand!”

Poe rolled his eyes. “Don’t matter. We made off with their loot, and—”

“What loot?” Finn snapped. “Poe, the only thing we could drag out of that damned safe was a single stack of bills.”

Poe straightened and one of his hands flew to his chest in indignation. “How is that my fault?”

“You didn’t listen long enough at that damn door!” Finn said, his eyes blazing. “They were probably gonna steal from a different safe, or something, and...” He flapped a hand. "And it doesn’t matter, because now we have a gang wanting to cut us up—”

“They’ve turned back,” Poe drawled over Finn’s words. “They gave up on us. Don’t you pay mind to those cutting rumors, anyway.” He gave Finn a winning smile. “It’ll be—”

“Poe,” Amilyn interrupted, “I swear to all that his holy, if you say, ‘it’ll be fine’ one more time, I’m going to ram a stick of dynamite so high up your ass that your grandchildren will be born with powder burns.”

Rose, sitting on a rock next to Rey, wrinkled her nose. “How would that even work?”

Rey shrugged in response.

Poe, Finn, and Amilyn had been arguing for a while, now. Maz had mostly kept to the wagon, although a muffled, ‘Bu’shit!’ could be heard on occasion.

Rey didn’t have any intention of joining the argument; if she got involved, she’d probably end up punching Poe again.

For the first time, a robbery hadn’t ended with that joyous sense of freedom. They’d failed many times before, certainly; but with this one, with this disaster, a weariness began to settle on her shoulders. A little thought hovered by her ear and whispered that maybe it wasn’t so great to always be running, maybe the uncertainty and the desperation were solidifying into their own versions of iron bars.

She looked over to where Ben was seated against a tree, one leg stretched out and the other crooked to support a leather book.  His head was bent, all attention on whatever he was scratching out on the page, and without his hat, waves of his black hair fell across his face. He was the perfect picture of concentration, from the furrow between his eyebrows to the firm set of his jaw.

Rey nibbled on her lip as she watched him. If she shifted just right against the rock she sat on, she could almost pretend that he was touching her again: the ghosts of his fingers rubbing her skin, dancing along her most sensitive bits, teasing wetness from her core.

Heavens, it had been even better than she’d dared to imagine. The endless friction of his skin against hers had made her climax into something so big that it had crystallized the air in her lungs and sent sparking aftershocks skittering along her limbs.

Rey fanned her heated face with her hand, though it was a poor substitute for her hat.  

And his implement…

Good lord. Something deep inside her quivered, low down and close to her belly. She hadn’t gotten a very good look at it in the moonlight, yet her hands had roamed over it in a way that gave her all the information she needed. An implement like _that_ would definitely be something she’d remember for years.

Her hand fanned faster.

Rose ambled behind Ben, and Rey realized that she hadn’t noticed the other woman get up, being overly occupied with alluring memories.

Ben’s attention didn’t waver from his notebook, and only when Rose let out an excited gasp did he stiffen and swivel around.

Rose was faster than him, and she swiped the notebook out of his lap before he could clamber to his feet.

“Hey!” Ben shouted. His bellow silenced the heated arguments faster than a gallon of frigid snowmelt.

Rose tossed the journal to Poe, who caught it in one hand. As Ben cursed and surged in his direction, Poe flipped through the pages with a growing smile.

“Look at our little Ben!” he said. “Quite the ar-teest!” He held open the notebook for everyone to see. Rey felt a flaming blush scald her cheeks as she took in the sketch—a woman in the middle of a stream, her arms lifted as she washed her hair. Her shirt clung to her torso and the clear water shone bright in the moonlight.

Ben, nearly as scarlet as Rey felt herself to be, lunged for Poe right as Poe lobbed the journal high in the air to Finn, who opened it to a different page. Finn’s mouth hung open and he gave Rey a strange look, then held the open journal out to the group once more.

Rey was staring at herself. She blinked a few times, just to make sure.

“Ooh!” Poe said in a high squeal. “Guess we found the real reason you came after us, Benny!”

She should say something. This stupid game of keep-away wasn’t doing anyone any sort of good. Each bout of laughter from her friends stabbed at the increasingly flustered marshal and then twisted inside of her like a piece of barbed wire.

“Stop it, Poe,” Rey said. He rolled his eyes at her as if she were the cranky schoolmarm that reprimanded a wild classroom.

The marshal made for Finn, who tossed the journal to Rey. Startled, she fumbled with it and nearly dropped it in the dust. It was still open to the page with her portrait. The opposite page showed a caricature of a black horse, tail lifted high and a cloud of scribbled gas floating out of its rear.

Her eyes returned to her own page, and she felt a flicker of worry. Was this to be for her very own wanted poster? Would he have brought it into a printer’s shop in Shiprock if she hadn’t stuck around with him the whole time?

Yet...no, that couldn’t be it.

It was a bit of an understatement to say that Rey was familiar with wanted posters. On a wall of every bank and sheriff’s office there were likeness of men with snarls contorting their faces, women with glowers so powerful that they could leave a smoking hole in a steel plate. They were villains. Demons. Nightmares with missing teeth and simmering hatred.

Of all the ones she’d seen, not one of them been drawn like _this_.

She was smirking out from the page. Not a conniving smirk, but a flirtatious one. Wisps of hair fell about her face in a way that implied a gentle, summer breeze. Crinkles in the corners of her eyes, dimples on her cheeks, a wide smile, shining lips. Hell, she looked _pretty._ No one had a _pretty_ likenesses on a wanted poster.

Ben’s boots crunched into view above the journal.

“We’ve wasted enough time here,” Amilyn said. The way she said it, Rey knew that her words were meant entirely for Poe.

When Rey finally looked up from the journal, the group had moved off to their horses. Ben stood in front of her, jaw clenched and hand outstretched. He spun around and marched to his horse as soon as she set the journal in his palm.

Oh, Goddammit. Leave it to Poe to get literally anyone’s knickers in a twist in the shortest amount of time possible.

The wagon creaked into a slow roll and stirrups jangled as people heaved themselves onto their horses.

Rey trotted to Ben and pulled on his sleeve before he could mount.

“It’s a nice drawing.”

Ben started. His dark eyes flicked to her, and he seemed like he was struggling with whether to be more flattered or embarrassed. He nodded quickly in thanks, but said nothing.

“Why’d you do it?”

His closed mouth worked, as if he was chewing on his words.

“I couldn’t get you out of my mind,” he muttered, even though by now, the others were out of earshot. Tie pranced as Ben swung into the saddle. “You locked me in a cell, and then you locked yourself in here.” He tapped his temple and pinched his lips into a thin line.

Rey snorted a tiny laugh and settled herself into BeeBee’s saddle, trying to get a hold on the wild bloom of pleasure before it skittered out into the open. “Awful flowery words you got there, Marsh.”

Their horses tossed their heads, eager to rejoin the herd that was making its way out of the shallow canyon.

“Thanks, _Vic.”_ Ben raised an eyebrow at her.

“It’s a nickname,” Rey said with a wrinkle of her nose. “They thought I sounded like the queen of England.”

He huffed out a short, harsh laugh and nudged Tie into a walk.

The plod of BeeBee’s hooves synchronized with those of the black horse, and his yellow-orange tail swished against clumps of yucca. A jay squawked a harsh cry from a juniper.

“Last night meant something,” Ben said softly. “To me.”

Rey looked sideways at him.

He stared ahead, eyes squinting at the horizon underneath the brim of his hat.

What was this feeling in her chest? She’d hardly felt it before; it was as fizzy and light as soda in her stomach.

Rey wrestled with her smile. “So you don’t finger just any lady you find in a stream?”

Ben choked next to her and shifted visibly in his saddle. A bright blush flared up his cheeks and he glanced at the group in front of them as if worried they’d overhear.

“No,” he said after clearing his throat. “I don’t.”

Rey nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “Me too.”

He glanced over at her, confused.

“I didn’t mean…” Rey pursed her lips and readjusted BeeBee’s reins between her fingers. “It meant something to me, too.”

Ben’s mouth tilted in a small, crooked smile. “Glad to hear it.”

Laughter drifted past them from up ahead, brought along on a lazy breeze.

“It was an honor to be the one to give you your first...er…’ His sentence trailed off.

Rey blinked at his flustered silence.

“My first orgasm?”

The way she said it must have sounded far too disbelieving, for he frowned at her.

Rey started to laugh.

“Oh, Marsh, that wasn’t my first.”

Ben looked taken aback. “But you said…” His lips pinched. “You said, last night, ‘I’ve never…’ and that ‘no one’s ever bothered,’ and—”

She felt a little bad for him, the poor thing, looking like he’d had the horse yanked out from underneath him.

“Yeah,” Rey said. “Because no one ever had. I’d never had that with someone else before. They’d done their business and that was all there was. Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to take care of myself.”

“Ah,” Ben said, and chewed on his lip, his eyes pinned on his reins.

Oh, _shit._ He must have gotten so much joy out of thinking that he’d done for her what had never been done before. She wanted to pull him into her arms and whisper that it was true, wanted to convince him over and over. Never before had she felt so adored. So cherished. So desired. He’d treated her like she had been a morsel of the richest cake, and he was intent on savoring every taste.

“It was amazing, Ben,” she said finally, meaning every word.

His head snapped up and his expression was so hopeful that it made her heart seize.

“Really.” Rey gave him a soft smile. “It was different than anything by myself. It was bigger. It…” She paused, and gestured futilely with one hand. “Before, I was a tiny stream that tumbled over a ledge. Time would stop for a second and then I’d go on. But with you…” She huffed a laugh. “Marsh, I was a goddamned _geyser._ I erupted into the sky and hung there like I was never gonna come down.”

“I thought you were the one supposed to be teasing me about flowery language.” But behind his smirk, he glowed with pride; it felt warmer than sunshine.

A cold wind rose out of the west and tugged at Rey’s jacket. The morning had been as bright and blue as crystal, yet there, off on the horizon, black clouds glowered and let loose diagonal sweeps of rain.

Rey knew a large storm when she saw it, and this one didn’t seem like the kind to settle for a few spitting drops before blowing away. Their horses caught up to the others right as a bolt of lightning speared through the sky and stuttered against a butte in the distance, followed shortly by a low rumble of thunder. The wind came again, faster and angrier.

Oh, the Southwest. If it wasn’t blasting dust in your face or crisping your skin, it was teasing you with shining mornings only to hurl fistfuls of rain at you minutes later.

Maz’s voice whipped through the air.

“I ain’t goan spend money on a room!”

Amilyn spun to the wagon. “Maz, look at it!” She gestured to the approaching storm with a white-gloved hand. “We’re out in the open. Our gunpowder’ll be soaked in minutes. My _gunpowder,”_ she said, with the same frantic worry that someone would say, ‘My _children.’_

Poe stood in his stirrups. “There’s a town up ahead,” he said. “We’ll stay there. You can sit in the rain if you want, but I for one am gonna hunker down for a spell.” He twisted about in his saddle and looked around at the group. “All for hunkering down?”

A chorus of affirmatives answered.

Maz muttered a few fiery curses under her breath and ducked back inside the wagon.

The first pelting raindrops struck as they came into town. Rey wouldn’t really even call it a ‘town’—it boasted a saloon, a hotel, a general store, a whitewashed church, and a schoolhouse. Squat buildings with faded facades, crooked timbers and missing letters. Thunder rattled the muddy ground underneath her feet. Fat, heavy droplets splashed in the streets and quickly soaked through her jacket.

BeeBee whickered when she closed him in the corral, his coat already dark with rain, his mane plastered to his neck, the imprint of the saddle blanket gone in an instant.

“You’ll be fine,” she muttered to him. Cold water saturated her clothes and glued her hair to her scalp. She trudged through the hotel’s heavy door. Water ran in streams down her jacket and saddle to join the puddles that had run off everyone else’s clothes.

Amilyn was in conversation with the young man behind the desk, trying to figure out how many rooms they required.

It didn’t seem like nicest hotel Rey had ever paid money to stay at, but desperation in a time like this was cause for overlooking the chipped, old wood, faded floral carpet, crooked armchairs with threadbare upholstery, an unpainted pot filled with dead flowers, and a framed charcoal sketch of some mountains that seemed like it had been drawn by someone who had never seen mountains.  

“I’m ‘a git me own bunk,” Maz said with an irritated sniff and swiped a key from the young man. “If I goan spend money on a room, I goan be by misself.” She clomped up the carpeted stairs, her skirts leaving a damp trail behind her.

Rose gave Rey a quick elbow to the ribs, causing Rey to nearly lose her grip on the saddle. She scrabbled to keep the slippery leather in hand.

“You wanna share again?” Rose asked. “Or…” She looked over to the marshal, who was hovering in the corner by the door, dripping and frowning at the growing puddle around his boots. Rose’s gaze did a mad tango between Rey and Ben, and her eyebrows wiggled.

Rey narrowed her eyes at the short woman. “You trying to insinuate something, Rose?” she said.

Rose smiled. “Most definitely.”

The very thought of having a room just for herself and Ben made her nethers tingle and her pulse race—though she wasn’t sure why it was also making her palms sweat.

A jangling caught her attention; Rose had settled her saddle against a bent leg and held out a brass key on a shining ring.

“What d’ya say?”

_Hell with it._

Rey swiped the key from Rose’s outstretched hand.

“Come with me, Ben,” she said, jerking her head at him.

Poe, always within earshot, barked a laugh, and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘You sure know how to proposition a man.’

Rey ignored him, and clomped up the creaking, carpeted stairs. Ben's bootsteps followed her, and were in turn followed by more than one raucous hoot. If her hands weren’t burdened by her saddle, she’d have tossed a mighty rude gesture over her shoulder.

Let them talk. They would talk anyway. And in any case, Ben couldn’t possibly be a worse snorer than Rose. If Rey were to leave out the opinion of her nethers, it would still be a logical, rational decision.

Their room was on the top floor, up a narrow flight of stairs. The door creaked open into a room darkened by storm clouds. She dumped her effects in a heavy pile, making sure to set her  pistol belt gently on an unsteady chair, and Ben settled his rifle against the wall.

The room boasted a claw-footed tub on one end, and a large bed on the other. Wide, wooden boards covered the floor. Threadbare rugs lay next to the tub and the simple pedestal sink. They hung their jackets on pegs by the door and Rey tried not to think about how much water would soon be pooled underneath.

She walked to the narrow, windowed door and looked out onto the town. This room had a small balcony, just about as long as BeeBee, lined with cast-iron railings that shone with rain. Harsh droplets pinged on the tin roof above, sounding like a chorus of muted bells.

A match flared behind her and a warm glow filled the room. When she turned, Ben was adjusting the brightness on a wall-mounted paraffin lamp. The light illuminated walls covered in swirling, floral wallpaper, where every few feet, a miniature cherub peeked out of a bushel of roses.

Her eyes landed on the bed. From here, it seemed soft. The duvet also displayed the floral motif, although thankfully these arrangements lacked the chubby, winged infants on the walls. It was large enough for Ben to stretch out diagonally. Large enough for them to sprawl next to each other. Large enough for...

When she glanced at him, Ben was staring at the bed as well. Were his thoughts headed in the same direction?

The light in the room wasn’t quite enough to see everything fully; the wall lamp’s glow was warm, timid, and intimate.

Ben’s words from the river floated back to her:

_‘If I were to take you, you should be naked and spread out on something comfortable.’_

Rey swallowed and flipped a thumb at the plush bed. “Looks comfortable,” she said. Her breath came fast and her skin tingled.

Ben trained his darkening eyes on her and took a step in her direction. His lips pressed again in that way she’d come to know so well: swallowing his emotions, chewing his thoughts.

Nerves jittered in her stomach, rose up through her chest, and came out with a blurted,“I need a bath.”

He blinked, then gave her that crooked smile.

“I’ll leave you to your privacy.”

He went to the balcony door, and as he passed her, his fingers trailed along the back of her hand. Rey sucked in a shallow breath.

The rain had lessened, she noticed when Ben opened the rattling door. He didn’t go out into it—just watched the storm with his back to her.

The bathtub had no surrounding barrier; the room had been meant for either one person, or for two people who knew each other mighty well. Rey cranked the scalloped knobs and as the steaming water splashed into the chipped tub, she quickly shrugged out of her clothes, every so often sending a glance in Ben’s direction. He didn’t look. Embarrassment was a silly concept, though she felt it anyway. She’d had this man’s lips on her and his fingers within her, but flushed at the thought of his eyes on her naked body.

Why was she so damn nervous? It was just sex. Nothing new. Nothing she hadn’t done before, nothing she hadn’t seen before. And he desired her. All of his words and actions the previous night reinforced that fact most solidly. If she’d stood with her arms outstretched in front of him and said, ‘take me,’ he would. If it wasn’t worry about rejection, what was the reason for the anxiety that scrubbed at her insides?

She sunk into the hot water with a languid sigh, then grabbed the small cake of soap from the bathtub rim and got to work scrubbing at her skin. Ben’s soap had been much nicer—as thick and lathery as shaving cream, and somehow smelling like comfort and spicy timber—but Rey could never turn her nose up at a good wash, no matter how sweetly pungent the suds.

As she splashed the soap from her face, she frowned at the water.

In all of her previous encounters—the few, fleeting couplings—there had been no attachment. She had almost prided herself on it, how she’d always managed to keep herself closed off. She’d opened her legs, and nothing else.

The soap paused in its glide over her elbow. The thing was, she realized, sex with Ben wasn’t going to be _just_ sex. That’s why she felt this awful, nervous tension. She wasn’t sure she was ready for not-just-sex yet. Because she knew, without a doubt, that it would be a flutter in her heart and a squirm right smack in the middle of her feelings.

The tub was only half-full, and she drained the grainy water so she could fill it with clean, then leaned back and let the heat loosen her tense limbs.

Rey wanted him. He wanted her. Why did her brain have to make it so much more difficult than that?

Ben stepped out onto the terrace and leaned his forearms against the railing, his fingers loosely laced together. The long line of his body relaxed, and he tilted his head back so that the raindrops fell on his face; angled just like this, Rey could see the look of bliss as the storm settled around him.

The damp fabric of his vest stretched across his back. Rey thought of the broad shoulders that lay underneath his light button-up, how they had felt under her heated palms. Smooth skin, hard muscle, scorching body.

The bar of soap rolled between her hands, building a lather just as she had done last night. A sweet spark of desire curled within her at the memory of lathering him up, stroking him down.

Her hands tightened around the soap.

The way he had shuddered against her, murmured to her, come undone right in her hand...oh Hells, it was enough to rattle her heartbeat and hitch her breath.

Involuntarily, her hands tightened again and the slippery cake flew from her grasp and thudded across the room.

_Well, shit._

Rey glanced around, but the towel rack hung on the wall at the other end of the room. She bit out a curse to whoever had arranged it all.

Could she call him inside? Ask for help? He’d respond, without a doubt, yet the moment he came to her, she knew it would be like releasing the water of a flash flood: there would be no turning back, no way to put the rain back in the clouds.

Her pulse fluttered under her skin, as it had before the robbery in Black Rock. Everything was in balance. Frozen. Just like in that moment, the past and the future met and then split again: down one road lay a scramble into her own damp clothes and a cold night spent at opposite ends of a wide bed. Down the other...

Rey sucked in a steadying breath.

Let the flood come.

“Ben?”

He turned at her call and came in, closed the door, shook the drops from his head. Even at this distance, she could feel the heat in his gaze as it landed on her, taking in the curling tendrils of hair falling from the messy clump high on her head, bathwater beading on her skin, knees pulled to her chest in an odd attempt at modesty.

 _He’s seen you,_ a voice whispered in her head. _He’s liked what he’s seen. What in blazes are you doing that for?_

“Er,” Rey said with a gesture at the cake at his feet. “My soap escaped.”

He picked it up with a soft laugh. “Didn’t take it for a flier.”

“It’s a wiley one,” she said.

“Seems like it.”

He rinsed the soap in the pedestal sink. When he came to her, her first reaction was to keep her knees tucked to her chest, to keep herself closed away.

 _No._ No more of that. You want him. He wants you.

_Simple._

Her legs straightened in the tub—or, at least, as much as they could—and her nipples pebbled in the cool, damp air. A droplet (of sweat or water, Rey couldn’t tell) rolled down her neck and over her collarbone.

Ben froze, lips parted, eyes unable to decide where they wanted to settle. Had he looked at her like this when they’d stood in the stream? Had his gaze held the same simmering, ravenous hunger that heated her as if she were sitting on a stove? The cords on the backs of his hands tensed.

The soap shot out of his hand and into the tub.

Rey shrieked a laugh as the water rose up in a loud splash.

Ben’s strangled huff was a desperate attempt at lightheartedness. “You might have to fetch your own soap from now on,” he said. He was making a valiant effort to look at her face, though her breasts seemed to be putting up a frantic bid for his attention.

“No…” Rey said, in a tone of deliberation. “I think you’ll have to fetch it again.” She bit her lip. He’d understood her come-on last night so well, would he pick up on this one?

A crooked smile, that same heated stare.

“Can’t hardly say no to that.” His voice was as low and rumbling as the thunder outside.

As he came to her, he rolled his sleeves past his elbows. Rey had never seen his forearms before: thick and ropey and nearly as big around as her calf. Her low-down bits quivered at the sight.

He kneeled by the tub, and Rey’s breath came faster at the nearness of him. The smell of his skin filled her: sweat, leather, smoke, citrus. She swallowed.

Ben dipped a hand into the water, his fingers drifting along the bottom until they brushed her ankle and the curve of her heel.

 _More,_ her body clamored. _More._

His touch trailed up her sharp shinbown to the knee that stuck out of the water. His hands were so, so large. The sight of those long fingers dancing over her skin sent sparks through her body, so bright and loud that she could have sworn she’d been charged by the lightning overhead.

“Don’t think the soap is there.” She sounded out of breath to her own ears.

“Might be,” Ben said. His brow furrowed in false concern. “Hard to know for certain.” The damp pads of his fingers left wet tracks as they crept past her knee.

“You’re right,” Rey breathed. “Worth it to check.”

The flash of a dimple in his cheek, the sparkle of mischief in his eye.

His fingers dipped beneath the water, continuing their trek along the inside of her thigh, as light and tender as raindrops. Rey arched her back in anticipation as his hand moved farther, _farther…_

“Aha.” Ben smiled and lifted the cake of soap out of the water.

Rey wasn’t sure if she was more disappointed, frustrated, or aroused.

“Join me?”

The words were out before she knew that she said them.

Ben gave her a skeptical look, and Rey cursed herself. God, even to fit in the tub alone, she had to bend her legs so that they stuck out into the air; the two of them together would be a mad jumble of knees and elbows.

Before she could suggest that she’d leave so he could have a turn of his own, Ben stood and began to unbutton his vest.

Rey stared, hypnotized, at the way his long, thick-knuckled fingers easily undid the fasteners. The vest fell to the wooden floor and he started on the shirt. He wasn’t even looking at the buttons, simply watching her. Dark eyes roamed over her face, gauging her response. The muscles in his arms and across his chest flexed as he slipped the shirt from his shoulders in a motion that was entirely too slow to be accidental. Rey clutched the cool rim of the tub to hold herself back from leaping on him like a lynx in heat.

Ben was a large man—that had been obvious since the moment she’d first seen him. But... _hell._ Rey had never imagined the way that heavy slabs of muscle shifted over his thick torso as if he’d been sculpted. Veins bulged in his upper arms: blue ribbons she wanted nothing more than to drag her tongue across, and she nearly leaped from the bathtub to do just that, until she saw his scar and guilt stilled her. Thick and ragged, it ran across his collarbone, down his chest, and terminated inches from his nipple.

Rey shifted in the water. “Would you believe me if I apologized for that scar?”

“Yes.” He said it so quickly that Rey blinked. His fingers hovered over the trouser’s fasteners. “Would you believe me if I said I liked it?”

She let out a soft snort of disbelief. “Can’t say I would.”

Ben’s lips quirked. “It’s awful fearsome,” he said. The first button on the trousers came undone. “Makes bandits tremble in their boots.”

Another button.

Rey swallowed past the dryness in her throat and pulled a leg out of the warm water to wiggle her toes. She clicked her tongue. “Sorry, Marsh, I ain’t wearing boots.”

A long crease dimpled along his mouth. “Don’t seem like much of an outlaw, though, paying for a room and all.”

Another button.

“I’m a...a great outlaw. Y-you’d be surprised what I could steal from right under your nose.”

A thoughtful, slightly trouble expression passed over his face: there and gone, like a cloud on a windy day. “No,” he said. “Don’t think I’d be surprised at all.”

She might have thought he was referring to the watch, or to the badge, or to the shirt (even though by now, she was considering it to be _her_ shirt, because weren’t sweat stains a mark of possession?). The way he’d said it, though —soft and murmured, hinted at some other meaning to which she would never be privy.

The last button came undone and Ben’s trousers slithered to the floor, along with his linen underdrawers, and Rey couldn’t quite think anymore.

_Sweet bells of purgatory._

He was going to kill her.

What had she gotten herself into?

What was going to get into _her?_

It wasn’t just his...er, size, but the sheer volume of the _rest_ of him. Wide shoulders, broad chest, thick thighs, gigantic hands. Looming and intimidating. Maybe it was just because he was standing above the tub, as tall as a sequoia.

Heat raced from her toes to her scalp as it felt like her entire body broke out in a scarlet blush. She needed to remember to breathe. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she stared at the jutting proof of Ben’s interest.

“You might not be wearing boots, but you look to be trembling,” Ben said.

Shit, he was right. The leg she’d pulled from the bath shook like an aspen in October, and ripples skittered across the water.

Rey cleared her throat and settled her leg into the warm tub. “It’s the scar.”

His smirk, along with the pinkening of his ears, showed that he didn’t believe her.

She shimmied to one end of the bathtub so he could place a foot in the water, and when he sat down, water surged up and over the lip. A giggle escaped her at the mess of it.

“It’s a little floraly,” she said of the soap, when Ben started to scrub his arms.

He huffed a laugh. “Matches the rest of the room.”

She watched him as he washed. It was only fair, to be honest, since he had watched her own ministrations in a river. What if Ben were to draw his own bathing scene? Where her own had been depicted in romantic shading and sultry posture, Ben’s would be an awkward shove of one arm over his head so he could scrub at his armpit. All of his focus was on his task, eyes pointedly aimed at the patterned tin ceiling. Not quite as romantic.

Rey’s laugh burst out, clear and burbling.

“What?” Ben said, blinking at her.

She’d snatched his attention, and his gaze drifted down to her breasts. Although that hungry look had taken a break so that he could concentrate on divesting his skin of grime, the heat in his eyes was back in an instant.

When the soap shot out of his hands this time, it smacked her in the belly. Rey yelped, reached into the water, and grabbed it before he could lunge.

“Let me?” she said.

Against the faster patter of raindrops against the roof, she could hear Ben swallow before he nodded.

She started at his knees, rubbing the floral cake over his skin, laving her hands up his sides. His legs drifted apart and she situated herself between them so she could kneel and get better access to his shoulders. The soap made him as smooth and slippery as a trout under her palms. Every shift of his muscles against her fingers ratcheted her heartbeat to a faster gallop.

Ben’s ribcage rose and fell underneath her with every one of his shallow breaths. The urgent press of his cockstand jutted against her belly, hard and hot. Her hands stilled their glide over his slick chest.

Rey sucked her lower lip past her teeth.

“Ben?”

“Yes?” It was a low rumble. She could feel it vibrating through the porcelain tub and the water and against the elbows that rested on his torso.

“I’d like to you to take me,” Rey said. “Please.”

Ben didn’t respond in words. An incoherent, victorious growl burst from him as he swept her into his arms and kissed her, ignoring the splash of the water that flew onto the stained wooden floor.

His lips crushed hers, his tongue flicked into her mouth. He threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her head back so he could more thoroughly claim her, and Rey wrapped herself around him as if to pull him close and keep him there. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and his stubble scraped against her chin. Ben tipped forward to lay her back in the tub, but her head clunked against the rim and she yelped, more from surprise than pain.

“Sorry,” Ben said against her lips before scooping her up and carrying her out of the bathtub.

“The water!” Rey cried, as torrents of bathwater cascaded from their bodies.

“Devil take the water.”

The coverlet on the bed was soaked in a second. Rey couldn’t care less. Ben’s lips slanted over hers as he maneuvered his dripping body between her legs, and she opened them wide, steeling herself for the breach of his implement into her. Instead, he kissed a long, slow trail down to her breasts. His breath ghosted against her nipples before he closed his mouth over one and sucked.

Lord, why had no one ever done this before? It felt as if there was a burning line that shot from her breast straight down to the crux between her thighs. And his tongue: dancing across her, fluttering over her skin and making her nerves weep with joy.

His broad hands held her in place as his mouth descended further, lips sweeping down her sternum, feathering across her ribcage, skimming the side of her belly button. Soft black hair tickled her sides as he traveled lower.

Alarm prickled sharp and clarifying through the haze of her arousal. Where was he headed? He couldn’t possibly be thinking of—

The scruff on his chin brushed the edge of her pubic hair, and he still didn’t stop.

Lower, lower…

Rey yipped and squirmed away from him.

“What are you doing?” she said, aghast, struggling to her elbows and gaping down at him.

In whorehouses, Rey had engaged in rather informative discussions with primped and painted ladies who had explained the proper way to entertain using one’s mouth. She’d never tried such a thing, but was certain that she’d know what to do with an erect penis if it hovered at her lips.

There had never been conversation about someone using his mouth to entertain _her._

Ben looked up, eyebrows raised in amused surprise.

“No one’s done this for you?” His mouth was so close that his hot breath brushed against her sensitive, soaked skin.

Rey spluttered. “Why would they?”

“It’s…” Ben seemed to be fighting a smile. “Did you like my fingers here?”

 _Hellfire and damnation, yes._ She nodded.

That crooked pull of his lips, that hint of a dimple.

“It’s just the same,” Ben murmured, leaning in.

“But…” _But the taste of it,_ she finished in her head. Worries and doubts stung her thoughts like grains of sand in a dust storm.

Ben paused in his approach. “Do you trust me?” he said. In the warm glow of the lamplight, his expression was as soft as his words.

“I…”

He exhaled through a small smile, tilted his head.  “Do you trust me with this?”

“Yes.”

His gaze didn’t stray from hers as his mouth descended, and…

_Oh._

He started slow at first, with a tentative, exploratory swipe of his tongue, and then settled on her clitoris, pulling it between his lips and flicking little pulses across it.

God, it felt better than his fingers. His mouth was warm and firm and nimble. A quavering gasp flew from her as he pressed his face deeper between her legs, and shimmering heat flew across her breasts, down her spine, through her belly. Ben groaned as if he was the one being pleasured, not her.

Rey peeked down at him. His long nose pressed against the mound of her pubic bone, his large palms gripped her hips, his dark eyelashes lay flush against his cheeks. Between the grumbles of thunder, she heard only the lewd sounds of the suction of his mouth against her flooded cunt.

Concern pricked at the corner of her mind, and her hands clenched into fists. Should...should she touch him? Should she touch herself? Grab the sheets and hold on?

“Ben, I...um…”

He stopped and lifted his head, a concerned look on his long face. His mouth and chin shone with _her._ The sight sent a fresh rush of warmth through her nethers.

“What’s wrong?”

Rey swallowed and splayed her fingers. “I...I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

His concern dissolved into a laugh that he huffed through his nose. Crinkles creased the corners of his eyes.

She shifted under the look he was giving her; it bordered a little too close on ‘adoration,’ and Rey wasn’t quite sure how to process that.

“Touch me.” His words brushed against her soaking skin, as soft as a whisper.

One hand drifted down uncertainly, and Ben feathered his fingers around her wrist to bring her hand to his head. The thick locks of his hair were like black silk under her fingertips. She dragged her touch along his scalp and his eyelids fluttered, lips parted around a helpless moan. Then he turned to press a kiss to the thin skin of her inner wrist, gave her that crooked smile yet again, and buried his face in her cunt.

Rey clutched him with a desperation she never knew she had as choked gasps burst from her lungs, both hands wound in his hair, her arms trembling, her body coming undone. Like this, she could direct him where she needed. Push him harder against her. Grind against his face.

“Ben, I—”

Her sentence fell apart as he swirled the tip of a finger in her wetness, and as he slid it into her, she nearly bucked off the bed. Another finger pressed inside, and as he fucked her with his hand, Rey felt the frantic, heady throb of her climax nibble at her toes and work its way up her spine.

A third finger teased her. Ben rumbled a groan against her cunt, and it vibrated through her body.

And there…

And _there…_

She came with a scream, bowing backwards until the crown of her head lay flush against the coverlet, writhing against his mouth, unsure of whether she was trying to pull herself closer to him or push him farther away.

Rey lay on the mattress, gulping in lungfuls of air as her heart beat a frantic staccato. Ben crawled up the length of her body and wiped his smirking lips with the back of his hand.

“I think you’ve converted me to your ways, Marsh,” she said around shuddering breaths.

Ben grinned down at her. “It’s a lot more fun on this side, sweetheart.”

The endearment surged through her blood.

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you?” Robbery was more enjoyable than paperwork, at least in Rey’s opinion.

Something flitted across his face that looked an awful lot like confliction, but it was there and gone too fast to tell.

“Sure,” he said. “You can call me ‘sweetheart’ if you’d like.”

Rey scoffed at him, then shifted her hips and felt the stiff tip of him brush against her nethers. She froze.

It was just going to be sex, she repeated to herself. Over and over again, it circled through her thoughts. Want and need and sweat. That was it. Her body nearly howled with how much it craved the fill of him, the nearness of him.

Ben reached down between them and swept the head of his cock through her slickness. His dark whiskey-colored eyes connected with her, his look a question.

“Yes,” Rey whispered. “Please.”

He entered her slowly, carefully, watching her face. Helpless grunts tumbled from his lips as her body stretched around him, her cries bursting into the room like little fireworks.

When he was fully seated, Rey realized with a start that she was trembling. She could feel the entire pulsing length of him, and his face was so close, and his heart pounded just inches from hers. There were too many things she could read in his expression, and they all made her feel as exposed and scraped as a raw nerve. She scrunched her eyes closed and pressed her cheek into the coverlet.

“Rey,” Ben said, his lips brushing against her ear. He said it like it was a balm: something meant to soothe. A broad palm cupped her face and turned her to him, large thumb brushing the line of her jaw. He kissed her, then, more tenderly than she’d ever been kissed. Nose-to-nose, they shared each other’s breath.

 _Fuck._  

There was no getting around it.

This wasn’t just sex. Not at all.

Damn it to hell and back.

_Let the flood come._

A gasping sigh of surrender left her. The moment she twined her fingers in his hair, Ben began to move in languid, gliding strokes, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Then harder, faster, each thrust a blast of pleasure until they were moaning in tandem. Ben lifted her leg over his shoulder and Rey bucked against him at the new sensation. He braced a palm on the headboard, snapping his hips into her, coaxing out sounds she’d never heard herself make.

The hotel’s bed wasn’t meant for this. Springs squealed and shrieked in protest, and the headboard slammed against the wall in rhythmic bangs. Oh, she’d guessed that his fuck would be urgent; it only took a moment to get there. He was pounding into her with a ferocity that she’d literally dreamed about, an intensity that had sat dormant under that quiet, brooding exterior.

Rey’s body sang with it. She surged with his thrusts like the tide, each one bringing her higher and higher, closer to the crest.

A small painting fell behind the bed with a muffled crack. A dull, heavy banging—a fist against wallpaper—rattled the wall.

Ben paused, and the banging stopped.

“Goddammit,” a voice shouted through the plaster. “SHUT UP!”

It was just too ridiculous: this sweaty, panting, enormous man was giving her the best fuck of her life, and some poor sap was probably trying to take a nap in the neighboring room. She laughed then, hard enough to bring tears to the corners of her eyes.

Ben huffed a low laugh into her neck. “The room’s nice,” he murmured, “but I can’t say the same for the ambiance.” He withdrew from her and flopped to his back on the damp coverlet.

Rey tried to hide her disappointment that it was over, but despite the interruption, it had still been the best sex she’d ever had. Even with the emotional part at the beginning. Maybe because of the emotional part at the beginning. She decided not to think on that too much.

“That was real nice, Ben,” Rey said, smiling lazily at the tin ceiling.

He shot her a confused look. “We’re not done.”

Her mind jolted to his words when she’d locked him in the cell. If she’d only known then that in a few days’ time, Marshal Ben would be fucking her boneless...well, really, she’d have done everything the exact same.

Ben patted her hip.

“Get on me.”

“What?”

“Ride me, bandit.”

Rey’s pulse fluttered, her cheeks flamed, and her nethers quivered in excitement. How could she be blushing _now?_ She straddled him —which was more difficult than she’d anticipated, because of the whole boneless aspect—and he guided his cock into her once more. Rey arched her back at the breach, and... _oh,_ that was even more delicious.

His massive hands closed on her hips, lifting her, settling her down, lifting. Up and down. She took up the rhythm soon enough. Palms flat on his smooth chest, she wasn’t certain if she was holding herself up or pinning him to the mattress. There was an angle, just so, where her clitoris ground against his pubic bone. It was almost enough. Almost. Her hand fluttered down to where they were joined before she could stop it, and she snatched it away, embarrassed. Ben noticed, and guided her hand back.

“Show me how you take care of yourself.”

So she did.

Couldn’t well refuse a marshal’s order now, could she?

It didn’t take long, what with the rapid stroke of her fingers, and the insistent stretch of her most tender parts around him. Like the flare of a fuse, she burned bright and sparkling, crying his name to the walls and the storm and the cantankerous neighbor. Ben’s fingers dug into the flesh of her ass as he guided her down onto him, fucking himself with her. The muscles in his arms bulged with the force of it. Then she felt the vise of his hands as he pulled her off, heard his gasping grunt, felt the warm jet against her thigh.

Rey’s laugh was a breathless one as she collapsed. Ben pulled her against his side so she lay nestled in the crook of his arm.

“Ride you into the sunset,” she murmured into his hot, sweaty skin.

Ben laughed as well, surprised. “What’d you say?”

She nuzzled against his scarred pectoral while his fingers traced delicate patterns over her shoulder blade. Black tendrils of hair clung to his forehead. She brushed one back and he closed his eyes at the touch. If she had felt nervous or embarrassed, she couldn’t remember; her body and her brain were as limp and sated as a drunkard on payday.

In her best drawl, Rey said, “I ain’t much for dramatic exits, but I’d sure as hell like to ride you into the sunset.”

Ben huffed a low chuckle at her giggle.

Outside, the storm rumbled like a hungry wolf. They turned to look through the bubbled glass.

“Got some news for you, sweetheart,” he said.

“Oh?”

He rolled towards her and smiled against her lips. “Sunset’s a long ways off.”

 

* * *

 

When they finally woke, it wasn’t because of the smoke, but because of the screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I’ve taken some liberties with the historical accuracy of the tub and the plumbing in this chapter. (YET ANOTHER GASP.) Claw-foot tubs weren’t made popular until 1883-85, and it’s pretty unlikely that a hotel in the middle of nowhere New Mexico would have had such a high-end system of hot water piping through the entire building. Much more normal would be to have either a communal bathroom for each floor, or just an outhouse behind the building, but neither of those historical accuracies lend themselves to sexy times. (I mean, maybe that’s someone’s cup of smut; who am I to judge? This here is a safe space.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold on to yer seats, all--this smut train’s gonna get a mite rattley. And violent-y. Heed the new warnings and tags.  
> Optional auditory mood setting: Hero, Federale
> 
> Ohdang! I made a 'Wanted' Youtube playlist; watch it [ here! ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLT4RuyR0WeEAAKAPU96s68w8yR9VTrIdt)
> 
> A bazillion thanks to loveofescapism for beta-ing this chapter!! <3 <3

Ben Solo had never fallen asleep with someone in his arms before. Not that he hadn’t wanted to do so; there had simply never been the opportunity, or the time.

But here he was, lying in a floral-wallpapered room in a hotel in the middle of nowhere, with a soft, warm, beautiful woman. Her head was pillowed on his bicep, her arm draped over his waist, her breaths coming in the slow drags of sleep. Ben’s eyelids felt heavier than cast iron kettles as he watched her lips twitch into a smile. When her nose twitched, it made the freckles on her cheeks dance. He wondered what she was dreaming about. A lock of her chestnut hair stuck out above her forehead; if Ben had the energy to move, he’d tuck it behind one of her ears. She drew her lower lip into her mouth and it emerged glistening and plump, before drifting open around a low, gasping moan.

With that pure, perfect sound, he knew exactly what she was dreaming about.

They’d lain together after that first time, all lazy touches and whispers, until a grumbling stomach interjected. The hotel’s grub of overcooked eggs and slightly burned toast wasn’t ideal for anyone, but it had given them both enough energy to make it back upstairs, struggle out of half-damp clothes, and into each other.

The second time was slower.

It had been an exploration of mouths and fingertips over skin. He had noticed the way her hair fanned out over the pillow and shifted each time he rocked into her, seen how her hazel eyes widened and then squeezed shut as she lost herself in climax.

This woman was nothing like the girl that had glared at him behind iron bars. With each passing day, he was having a harder time reconciling the two of them: the outlaw girl with no remorse and fire in her eyes, and the sleeping woman who, little by little, was working her way into his soul.

And maybe this was just the aftershocks of lovemaking, and maybe it was just the contentment soaking through his bones like warm molasses, but when he thought of tomorrow—whatever or wherever tomorrow would be, and whether it was one tomorrow or a thousand tomorrows—he imagined her there.

Rey let out another little gasp against him as her dreams melded with memories.

Ben wanted to pull her close, wake her and bring the dream to life, again, and again, and again, but, _hell,_ his eyelids weren’t even opening now.

So instead, he just pulled her close, and slept.

 

* * *

 

Someone was screaming.

He could barely see—her outline was clouded and unclear. A knobby, twisted length of rope stretched taut from each of her wrists and disappeared into the darkness all around. Her face contorted with pain and fear, her hair floating above her head in a halo as if she were underwater. The stomp and snort of horses was muted and distant. A whinny. The ropes flexed.

He tried to reach for her only to find that his arms were bound in the same way, and no amount of pulling loosened the knots.

A gunshot. Bellowing horses. The ropes creaked under the tension. Her sleeve tore. Pain in his shoulders, in his elbows, his his wrists. Her scream.

Pain in his shoulder.

The scream.

_“Ben!”_

Pain in his shoulder.

_“BEN!”_

He jerked awake, the taste of ash and something sticky and acrid in his mouth.

The room still held that warm glow, yet he was sure he’d put out the lamp last night. Or maybe it had been this morning. Was this dawn he was seeing?

Rey punched his shoulder again.

“Get up!” she shouted as she scrambled from the tangled sheets and stumbled into her clothes.

Another scream blasted up the stairs and under their door, followed by breaking glass and frantic shouts, and…

That glow beyond the door.

That amber, flickering glow.

Ben practically flung himself off the bed and into his clothes. Damp patches chilled his skin as he fastened his belt with fumbling fingers, buckled the gunbelt with the sound of an inferno tiptoeing towards them: a dull roar, creaking timbers, the crackle of flames. At the door, he placed a palm against the wood and snatched it back with a hiss. No going out that way.

Rey already knew that, it seemed; he turned to find her tearing the sheets from the bed, knotting them together.  

What in the holy hell had happened? Hotels didn’t catch fire by themselves. _Nothing_ caught fire by itself, Ben thought as he tossed his saddle out the window to land in the mud next to Rey’s.

Rey tugged on the knot that attached their makeshift rope to the iron railing.

“One of these days we’ll stop running, Ben.” He could hardly hear her mumbled words over the oncoming roar.

_We._

When _we_ stop running.

It might have meant her and her group, but his brain couldn’t help but think that she meant _you and me._

And, oh, how that thought warmed his insides, warmer than any fire.

He sent her down the knotted sheets first and was about to swing a leg over the railing, when he realized that his jacket was still inside: hanging on a post by the door.

His badge was in his shirt, safe and cool, a single layer of cloth away from his skin.

The same couldn’t be said for his pocket watch.

Dread lurched in Ben’s chest as he watched the door rattle from the heat and the pressure, watched the slow sway of his jacket sleeve as it caught some of the breeze. Jacket and watch, hanging next to oblivion.

_‘To Ben, On His 16th Birthday, Love from Father.’_

He could picture the watch in his mind so clearly that he could draw it a hundred times over. Front and back, the crack on the face, the elaborate script.

 _‘Let the past die,’_ Snoke had once told him. _‘Kill it, if you have to.’_

If he descended right now down the knotted sheets, it would be the first step in that direction. Let old things go. Give them to the hungry jaws of time and fate and let them be eaten whole.

Ben’s hands clenched around the hot air.

He’d kept the watch as a reminder, but without the watch, he would still remember. The past would never truly die, not really. And would he even want it to?

_No._

Red light danced between the gaps in the floorboards as Ben ran across the room. Something went in the water line and a jet of water shot from the bathtub’s faucet with a boiling hiss. The boards rattled and groaned underneath his boots, and he snatched the jacket with the hand not holding his rifle, then sprinted back to the terrace.

A board broke under his foot and Ben thudded to the floor. Heat and flame erupted through the new hole in the boards. He could feel the air around him as a scorching blanket: smothering and absolute. Was this it? Was this his end?

Goddammit, he wasn’t going to die because of a watch. _A watch._ He thought of his horse without a rider, his Winchester without a trigger finger, his badge without a lapel to rest on. He thought of Rey. She’d probably be fine without him —no, she would definitely be fine without him.

Yet...he wanted more tomorrows. He wanted mornings where he woke to her face when it wasn’t twisted in fear and urgency, where they could lounge together in the sunrise and the only worry would be who would leave the bedroll first.

Heart racing, lungs burning, he pulled himself to his feet and heaved his body out to the terrace. Rifle crushed in his armpit, smoke blurring his vision, the sheets slipped against his palms as he shimmied down.

He was nearly to the ground when a blast of flame and soot roiled from their window and he fell to the muddy ground with a thud.

The flames in the hotel were the only light against a black sky. They reached out of broken windows to lick at the air. A plume of churning smoke billowed high into the empty air.  Ben looked around and saw that the rest of the Rebels were clustered together, supporting the young man from the front desk, and the cook, and a few other soot-stained men and women.

“Shouldn’t we be getting water?” Rey cried when no one seemed to do more than stand and watch the fire. A creaking groan and a crash came from inside and more flames rushed out of the open windows; a floor must have collapsed.

A grey-haired woman shook her head sadly. “Ain’t enough water for it. Gotta save what we got.”

More townspeople emerged from their houses, standing on porches, squinting against the glare.

“Did everyone get—” Ben broke off into a hacking cough. Soot-smeared face, soot-covered hands, soot-covered lungs. He pulled himself to his feet.

“Weren’t anyone else staying besides you,” the young man said.

Finn wiped soot from his cheek with the cuff of a sleeve. “What happened?”

Almost as one, the Rebels turned to Amilyn, who blanched.

“That wasn’t me!” she bit out. “A lamp, maybe. Or a stubbed cigarette. Or—”

“No.”

Ben didn’t know who said it; he only saw the finger leading his gaze to the hotel’s crooked front door. On the splintered wood was the silhouette of a handprint, as black as the night overhead, its paint still glimmering and wet.

 

* * *

 

If there was to be a day where they didn’t have to run, it wasn’t going to be this one.

After handing the hotel’s owner a fat stack of crisp bills, the Rebels had saddled their horses and galloped into the darkness.

There hadn’t been any of the Devil’s Hand nearby, thank the good heavens above. Or, at least, they hadn’t made their presence known. The very thought made a chill dance down Ben’s spine. He’d like his enemies out in the open, so he could see them and know exactly where to aim.

When they finally stopped, the sky had turned a hazy pink with approaching dawn.

Maz kicked together a small fire and set about brewing chicory coffee while Artoo hammered a shoe onto Rose’s palomino. Horses cropped at scrubby patches of grass.

Finn leaned against a tree. “General isn’t gonna be happy about all these new developments,” he said. He nibbled at a short fingernail and spat into the dirt.

Rose shifted her grip on the palomino’s halter. “Which new developments you mean? The robbery gone wrong"—she started to tick on her fingers—"or the explosion gone wrong, or the arson by a group we ain’t ever had trouble with before, or the fact that _some_ of us got much better sleep than others?”

Ben didn’t much care for the knowing look Rose sent to Rey, or the way that Rey seemed to shrink underneath the other woman’s waggling eyebrows.

“All of those things are just...things,” Rey said, seeming flustered. “And that last part isn’t any of her damn business.”

Wait.

_Her?_

Poe pursed his lips. “If I know the General, she’ll be awful curious about that last part.” He tilted his head at Ben. “Same goes for the rest of us, to be fair.”

_She?_

The innuendo and curiosity flew right past Ben’s attention. When he approached Rey, she flinched at whatever expression he was making. He gripped her elbow a little rougher than he’d intended.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Rey blinked at him, pretending innocence. “‘Bout what?”

“Your _general.”_ His voice was hardly above a whisper.

Her face paled under the rosy sky, but she went with him into the scant forest anyway.

Poe’s falsetto rang out behind them. “Don’t be too long now, ya hear?”

Junipers and oaks jumbled with pines, and each step cracked a chorus of downed needles and crisped leaves. Soon, they couldn’t hear the group anymore.

“You’re keeping secrets from me,” Ben said.

Rey kept walking, and he whispered a curse before following her.

“‘Bout what?” she said again.

“‘Bout your damned general.”

Her feet stilled. “What makes you say that?”

“Because nobody ever heard of the Rebel’s leader being a general, and suddenly I discover she’s a _woman,_ and —”

Rey spun to him. “And?”

“And if you’re hiding something, I’m going to find out what it is.”

“You a detective now instead of a marshal?” She said it with a sly smile, a faint quirk of her lips. Her voice was low and breathy.

Ben wasn’t quite sure what to make of the sudden change in her attitude, and his thoughts stuttered.

“N-no,” he said.

The tips of her boots brushed against the tips of his. Her warm palm trailed down the buttons on his vest.

“You sure ‘bout that, Marsh?”

Fuck, her breathy whisper was doing something downright wicked to his lungs.

Ben swallowed, and then felt his heart lurch as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

“What are you doing?”

She shrugged, fluttered her eyelashes, and smirked. Her fingers undid his gun belt and let it fall to the ground, then trailed over the fasteners on his trousers. The air grew thick, and blood raced to his cock with a suddenness that made his head spin.

“Are you—” He swallowed again, throat dry. “Are you trying to derail this conversation?”

She licked her lips, and pulled them into an innocent smile. Her mouth was scant inches away from his groin. “Maybe.” The warmth of her breath heated the front of his trousers. “Or maybe I just want to do this to you. It’s been a hell of a morning. Might be I just want to relax a little.”

Ben choked. “Rey…”

She toyed with the first button at his waist. “If you want me to stop, all you gotta do is say so.”

They were in a forest, under the bruising purple sky of the morning. Songbirds trilled to the quiet landscape, and a light breeze hushed through tree canopies. Her group—friends and robbers—were barely out of earshot. A murderous group of outlaws trailed their steps. This wasn’t the place. It wasn’t the time.

But of course he didn’t want her to stop. Not at all. Never.

Ben traced her cheekbone with a finger, brushed his thumb over her lips.

“You can try all you want to distract me,” he said. His voice sounded cracked and desperate to his own ears. “It’s not going to work.”

She undid the trouser buttons and his stiff cock bobbed free.

“What’s not going to work?” Rey said, her moue of innocence returned. She wrapped one hand around the base of him and breathed gently on the weeping tip.

“Huh?” Ben said, barely managing not to slur. His mind felt as slow and foggy as a winter frost. What had he been asking her?

Rey’s innocent smile became smug, and with no more than that, she sucked him into her mouth.

He may have run from the fire, but it had somehow followed him into the forest; scorching heat raced from his toes to his chest and then flowed right back down again. His head lolled until he stared up at that bruised sky, before he realized that, no, _fuck,_ he should be watching her, should be seeing the magical things she was doing.

Her hand was working down his shaft, stroking what she couldn’t fit into her mouth. Little moans, ones he could hardly hear, buzzed along his skin and prickled along to the base of his spine. Her flushed cheeks hollowed as her head bobbed.

Ben cupped her head, overwhelmed by all of it, seeking to steady himself.

The purpled, rosy light overhead illuminated the back of her hand as she pushed it into her pants. Her brow furrowed and another moan keened from her throat.

_Jesus._

It felt sacreligious, somehow, to be listening to singing birds and chittering squirrels and the wet sucking sounds of Rey’s mouth on his cock; to see the glimmer of dewdrops on newly-opened flowers and the gleaming wetness of her tongue; all while his lungs sucked in ragged gulps of that fresh, new smell that blossomed every morning in a forest, along with the sweetness of the hotel’s soap mingling with her own dizzying scent.

She was bringing him close to the edge with a deftness that startled him, but as much as he wanted to finish in her mouth, to spill across her tongue and watch her throat work as she swallowed, it wouldn’t be enough.

His fingers twined in her hair and he pulled her from his cock with a lewd pop. She gazed up at him, glazed eyes under heavy eyelids, her jaw slack. A string of saliva connected the shining head of his cock to her plump lower lip. Cool air brushed his heated, slick skin, and a warm tingle curled low in his stomach and fluttered against his balls.

“Do you want more than this?” His voice cracked.

Rey nodded.

Oh, thank the heavens. Ben’s body sang with the need to bury himself inside her. Whatever fuck this would be wasn’t going to be tender, he was certain of that. Lust and adrenaline surged through him, having lain dormant since the hotel fire, and together they reared up, scorching and thickening his blood.

This wasn’t going to be gentle. It was going to be hard. Deep.

“I’ll be rutting you,” Ben said in warning. “That’s what it’ll be.”

Her small hand stroked up the length of his cock. Excitement reddened her cheeks and twinkled in her eyes.

“Good,” she said.

Ben’s rational mind went out then, like the guttering of a candle. He didn’t care about the location, he didn’t care about the group’s nosy gossiping. He didn’t care about their clothes, or the soot that still smeared over his face, or the peachy light that made everything in the woods wholly real and clear.

“Stand up.”

Barely on her feet, Ben spun her around and pushed her against the rough bark of a pine. Teeth on her neck, lips on her ears, hips grinding against the plump swell of her ass. He wrestled her jacket from her arms and tossed it to the ground, then fumbled with the buckle on her belt until her twin pistols crashed against discarded leaves and scraps of bark. Her soft moans spurred him onward, her gasping, cracked pleas of ‘Ben,’ and ‘yes,’ driving him like the crack of a bullwhip.

The suspenders slipped from her shoulders with ease, and her trousers pooled at her knees. Before he could think on why she wasn’t wearing any underdrawers, his cock was nudging at the slippery bliss between her thighs. He was still wet from her mouth, and he slid into her easily.

Rey’s gasp was strangled. Ben moved slowly, painfully so, waiting for her to adjust around him, and only when her hands tightened in the bark and pushed against it to further impale herself, did he move with intent. His hands were too ravenous to stay in one spot for long: they roamed over her hips, her shoulders, cupped her breasts through the thin fabric of her loose shirt, stroked her clitoris through her saturated curls.

She was as hot as a summer sun and tighter than a silk noose. Every jerk of his hips into her was rapture.

Rey wobbled and he felt her sag against him.

“Ben,” she said around pants. “I can’t…”

He froze. “What’s wrong? Have I hurt you?”

“No! No.” Rey huffed a high, tremulous laugh. When she looked back at him, loose strands of her hair clung to the sweat on her neck. “It’s good. It’s real good. But I...I don’t think my legs’ll keep working.”

“Oh.”

Never let it be said that Ben wasn’t an avid solver of problems.

He guided them to the forest floor, still interlocked, still touching, until she was bent before him and her elbows crushed fragrant pine needles. Tangled strands of chestnut hair swayed as he pounded into her. When her back bowed, the movement shifted the hem of her shirt higher on her torso. Ben dragged his hands over the soft skin of her waist, the round curve of her buttocks, watched her flesh bounce against the front of his trousers.

Rey’s fingers brushed against where they were joined, touching herself, and oh _God,_ her cunt squeezed him even tighter.

Then he was doing what he had promised: rutting her like a beast, mounting her, pinning her in place with a hand on her thigh and his mouth on her neck.

When she came her only sound was a light squeak and she stiffened beneath him. The slick heat of her cunt clenched around his thrusts. He set a punishing pace to carry her through it, all the way to the end, before his own orgasm swirled up through his balls and he pulled out to finish into the dirt.

Their pants seemed almost quiet in the morning din of the forest. Jays screamed at other jays, robins warbled beautiful melodies, chickadees jawed as they jumped from branch to branch. The sun peeked over the treetops and spilled golden light over the pine needles, roots, and discarded gun belts.

Rey straightened and began to pull up her trousers. After fastening his own, Ben helped her—tucking her shirt in, slipping one suspender over her shoulder.

With a start, he realized that he hadn’t even kissed her. He’d been a downright brute. A cad.

“Rey,” he said softly, and when she turned to him, damp strands of her hair curling against her flushed cheeks, eyebrows lifted in a silent question, he cupped her neck and pressed his lips to hers.

She made a little “mmm” of satisfaction before she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. They were still on their knees, and neither made a move to get up.

Contentment flooded through Ben. A part of him—a part which was growing larger every day—said that this was how things with the two of them were supposed to be:

Together.

Happy.

Sexually satisfied.

Needles snapped in the forest with the determined steps of someone not at all caring about being heard.

Poe, undoubtedly.

A last, slow press of his lips to Rey’s, and Ben pulled away just far enough to see her smile.

“Aw Hell, Chaz, did we miss it?” a rasping voice said from the trees.

Ben’s stomach dropped and he whirled to the voice’s owner, hand flying to his waist, but no, his gun belt was off out of reach, and cocked pistols were aimed at him and Rey.

The two men had about ten teeth between them, and their oily hair pressed close to their scalps. One had a patchy, black beard; the other boasted a greased mustache. Their leers made Ben’s flesh crawl. Both wore knee-length tawny jackets, and on the breast of each one was printed a black handprint.

If Ben’s stomach could drop any more, it would be heading into the soil under his knees.

“Think we did miss it,” the man with the greased mustache said, his leer twisting into a frown. “Either that or we done interrupted it.”

The first man growled in frustration and spit. Underneath his sparse facial hair, Ben could make out the bloom of a fresh bruise.

Ben shifted his weight slightly, just enough to start leaning towards his gun belt, just enough to inch in front of Rey. Two of the Devil’s Hand, one with twin pistols and the other with just one revolver—if he and Rey could get to their weapons, they’d be evenly matched.

Greased mustache waggled one of his pistols at Ben. “Don’t be doin’ that, now,” he said. “Hands where I can see ‘em. And get to your feet.”

Ben stood slowly, and out of the corner of his eye, saw Rey do the same. The hands walked forward, needles and bark crunching under their feet. Were there more? What was happening back at the Rebels’ camp?

The man with the patchy beard frowned. “Hold on now, Chaz, I think that’s the bitch that punched me back in Shiprock.”

Chaz wiped the back of his hand across his mustache. “That so, Corvy? You remember the face of e’ryone that clocks you?”

Corvy cranked up the wattage of his leer. “Just the pretty ones.”

God, he wanted to rip this man’s arms off. They were several paces away, now, close enough to see that Corvy’s bruise had darker bursts of red within it, and the end of Chaz’s nose was the scarlet, puffy type of the truly alcoholic.

He saw motion to the side: Rey’s fingers fluttering in the light. His eyes flicked to hers, and in that second, with a minute twitch of her smile, he knew she had something planned. Her gaze focused on a spot over one of the Hand’s shoulders. Her eyes went wide and she sucked in a loud, dramatic gasp.

The greasy men twisted to look behind them, as startled as a set of rabbits, and for a split second, the barrels of their guns left Ben and Rey.

She picked that second to attack.

In that moment, Ben had the jarring thought that he might be a little bit in love with her.

It was a frightening thought, and a distracting one, and Ben made a mental note to come back to it later when they weren’t lunging for two armed men.

“Jesus!” Corvy yelped right before Rey’s drove her fist into his bruise, then his yelp ratcheted into a wail.

Ben aimed his first punch into Chaz’s kidney, but it didn’t quite connect, and then a silvered barrel was staring right into his neck. Ben threw himself to the side as the gun fired. A clump of needles on the ground puffed into the air. The click of a reload, and another blast, and the crunch of a bullet striking bark. Chaz was nearly a head shorter than Ben, and was also stockier and slower. This fight should be easy.

‘Should,’ of course, being the operative word.

Another click, and now the cold barrel pressed against Ben’s stomach. He wrapped his hand around the man’s meaty wrist and pulled upwards with every ounce of his not-inconsiderable strength so that when the pistol fired, it was tipped up at the sky. Ben twisted Chaz’s wrist in a swift, brutal tug, and he heard a popping sound. Chaz bellowed in pain. One of the pistols thudded to the forest floor and Ben kicked it away.

A shrill yell caught his attention. Rey was wrestling with Corvy, and _shit,_ he had her pinned and his clenching hands were wrapped around her neck.

Later, Ben would think back and realize that he hadn’t actually been thinking at all, because bodily hurling a human into another human was the kind of thing he’d read in those awful dime novels, and had never actually wanted to practice in life.

Chaz’s hefty body flew through the air and collided with Corvy’s. Rey rolled to the side, gasping and coughing, as the two Hands fell to the ground in a jumble of leather and curses.

Ben threw himself at them, logic and reason left far behind. Every hit of his fist against their bodies was like another coal added to the engine: the smack of bone against flesh, the crack of a broken nose, the muscles burning in his arms. Someone—he wasn’t sure who—managed to connect with his stomach. The breath screamed out of his lungs and it should have weakened him, but it only did the opposite; it enraged him, fueled him, drew a red film over his vision. He wrapped his arms around Corvy’s scrawny neck and twisted, and he heard the crack, and the body went limp.

Chaz bellowed something. Ben couldn’t hear; his blood was roaring in his ears louder than a locomotive, urging him onward.

A gun fired and the corner of his jacket flew backwards.

“Ben!”

He wrapped his fingers around Chaz’s wrist and could feel the bones shift under his grip. Cold metal scraped his chin. The click of the pulled-back hammer resonated through his teeth.

_“Ben!”_

Another gun blast. Ben flinched, expecting to feel the white-hot heat of lead, but it never came. Chaz went limp and collapsed to the ground.

Ben’s mind didn’t catch up to his body for what felt like a solid minute. When it did, sight came back to him slowly, as if he were emerging from a fog.

Wispy clouds were like whipped candy against the blue sky. Leaves and pine needles swayed under the caress of a gentle breeze. Underneath it all, Corvy lay in a crumpled heap, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, blood trickling from his mouth. Chaz was on his stomach, his pistol inches away from his outstretched hand.

Then, exactly what he had done struck him like a blow to the gut. Ben staggered. His pulse thundered in his limbs and constricted his chest with each breath. His arms burned, his knuckles stung.

This was the reason why he had wanted to become a marshal so many years back: in the thick of a fistfight or a tavern brawl, with the bloodlust raging and the thrill of violence hammering a joyous melody within him, he’d found that he _enjoyed_ it all.

He _loved_ it.

And it was wrong. It should be wrong.

The pinned badge was a gleaming reminder that he had to hold himself to the standards of the law; lawmen didn’t pummel outlaws into the ground, they handcuffed them and took them to await judgement.

Yet this time, pummeling outlaws into the ground had saved them both. So was it really so bad, in the end?

The whispering voice of Snoke had its own opinions on the matter, but Ben shut it out. Snoke hadn’t been here. He hadn’t seen it.

But, oh, damnation _,_ she had seen it all.

 _Rey,_ his mind screamed. _Rey._

She was on her feet, her smoking revolver still aimed at Chaz, though the mustached man no longer moved. Her lips were a thin line and her hand shook. She was looking at Ben as if he was a mountain lion that had just finished a meal. Perhaps he was still dangerous, perhaps he wasn’t.

Light red lines circled her neck and a scrape crossed one of her forearms.

Ben opened his mouth, then closed it when he realized he didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’? He wasn’t, though. Not really.

Gunshots rang out from the Rebels’ camp, saving them from whatever conversation it was obvious neither of them wanted to have.

Rey spun on her heel and sprinted towards the sound.

“Rey!” Ben shouted after her. “Wait!” But she either didn’t hear him, or didn’t want to listen.

They had no idea how many of the Hands were out there; for all she knew, she could be running into a trap. Ben snatched up his gun belt and followed her at a sprint.

Right as he caught up to her, they emerged into the clearing where the Rebels had set up camp. Half a dozen pistols cocked and aimed, stilling his feet faster than a step into quicksand.

Eight of the Devil’s Hand glowered, sneered, and smirked around the camp. All of them wore the same long, tawny duster jackets that had graced the hunched shoulders of Corvy and Chaz. Grimy fingers tightened on pistols and revolvers. The Rebels stood with their hands raised, and whatever barrels weren’t aimed at Ben and Rey were pressed against the people Ben had barely begun to know.

_Fuck._

They never should have left the group. Was a tryst in the woods worth this?

Maz jutted her chin at the Hand nearest to her. She may have looked unafraid but for the hand clenched around Artoo’s arm. Poe’s pistols lay at his feet, his fingers laced behind his head. Everything in his face showed a fearsome need to blast holes in anything that moved, though the gun at his temple was a more than adequate barrier to that particular action. Rose crouched behind Poe, staring over his shoulder with wide eyes. Several men clustered around Amilyn, and they eyed her dress with grins that made Ben’s skin crawl.

“Drop ‘em,” one of the men said to Rey and Ben. He had rosy cheeks, a bushy brown beard, and the kind of puffed-out posture that reminded Ben of a rhinoceros he’d once seen in a zoo: barrel-chested and arrogant, but not much happening in that thick skull.

After a second’s pause, the gap-toothed man next to Finn pressed the pistol harder into Finn’s side, making the Rebel flinch.

Rey dropped her gun belt instantly. Ben gritted his teeth, then did the same.

The rhinoceros man let out a hearty laugh.

“Lookit us, we found ‘em first!” he said. “Who d’ya think’ll owe us the most?”

The others joined his laugh like a pack of wild dogs chattering over their dinner.

“Brigg bet twenty dollars that his group’d do it,” someone said. “But then so did Oscar.”

The barrel-chested man stroked his thick beard with one short-fingered hand. “That’s forty dollars, boys. We’ll make the boss awful proud.”

Ben pondered all of this. Three groups of the Devil’s Hand, at least. He’d guess that all of them were roughly the same size.  Roughly eight per group, and he was looking at a gang of about two dozen individuals with a sudden, intense hatred of the Rebels. Which, for the moment, included Ben.

All of the reports of the Devil’s Hand were now seeming wildly inaccurate. How large was this damned group?

And if their leader wasn’t here, where was he?

Jesus, wasn’t there _one_ outlaw group whose leader was actually with them?

“Who’s your boss?” Ben said before he could stop himself.

The man that had reminded Ben of a rhinoceros curled his lip. “The fuck makes you think you’re gonna find out?”

“Curious, is all.”

“Awful curious for a dead man.”

From somewhere in the camp, he heard Rose whimper.

 _It’ll be fine,_ he wanted to tell her, and then realized with a terrible lurch that if he said that, he would sound exactly like Poe.

“What’s the harm in telling a dead man?” Ben said instead. He was toying with a rattler, he knew. Tension wove through the camp, taut as a piano wire, and any second, he knew that it would break. Before that happened, he might as well get some information.

The rhinoceros man gave Ben the same look that someone would give a stubborn mule and spat into the dirt. “Stupid son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered.

A man with beady black eyes that glittered like that of a rat wrinkled his nose. “Hey, where’s Chaz and Corvy?” he said in a rattling voice.

Another man, lanky as a mantis, gestured at Ben’s clenched, bleeding fists. “Think that one’s done away with them.”

The beady-eyed man gasped, then turned with a hateful expression on his rat-like face and whispered angrily at the Hands nearest to him.

Rough hands shoved at Ben’s back, forceful enough to send him to his knees. Someone had snuck up behind him. The click of a hammer sounded by his ear. Dread rose up and settled heavy and bitter on his tongue, all of his bravado gone in an instant.

“What should we do with him then?” an oily voice said at his back. Another shove, and another, and Ben wanted to fight back and break a kneecap or send a swift elbow to a groin, but now there were more of them all around him, and a shining barrel was aimed at Rey. He couldn’t stand to see the look of horror on her face, so he turned from her. If he fought back, they would shoot her; he knew this as well as he knew the color of the sky.

A fist cracked across his jaw.

He couldn’t fight back.

Rocks and prickly blades of grass dug into his shoulder blades.

_Rey._

Hands ripped and tore at his jacket. Dirt-smeared faces laughed inches from his own, sour breath acrid in his nostrils. A boot connected with his ribs. Fingers fumbled at his shirt, grabbed at his badge, ripped it from its pocket.

_No._

_Please, no._

He tried to snatch it back, tried to pull it from the sticky, dirty grasp, but the man’s hand was too fast.

A voice rang out, bubbling and victorious.

“Aw, shiiet! Lookie here! We got ourselves a marshal!”

It was as if Ben had been thrown headfirst into a frozen lake: first there was the pain of impact, then the ice-cold flood that froze his limbs and nearly stopped his heart.

Snoke’s words from long ago floated into his mind: _‘If they find your badge on you, it won’t be a quick death.’_

Hollars and whoops burst from those of the Devil’s Hand, while muttering and gasps trickled through the camp. From here, he could hear Rey’s tremulous, “Oh, God.”

If the Hands hadn’t been serious about his death earlier, they most definitely would be now. The thought flashed through him that at least he and Rey were able to be together today, before it all ended.

“Is it silver? Think it’s worth somethin’?” someone asked by his head. “I mean, after we do him in, we could sell it.”

“Who cares? Gimmie yer knife, and I’ll even up his face.”

A knife glinted by his left eye, and Ben gave up on not fighting back. He jerked against those that held him down until the rat-faced man planted himself on Ben’s stomach.

Beady eyes glinting, the man pulled a buck knife from his belt. His lips twisted in a rabid smile. “What if I cut a little hole in his belly, and we stick his shiny badge inside?”

_Oh God, no._

Every report on the Devil’s Hand lodged like a spear into Ben’s brain: the mutilations, the brands, the broken kneecaps and the flayed flesh. He struggled desperately underneath the heavy boots pinning his arms, the bony knees digging into his abdomen. Bile rose in his throat.

_Not like this._

All of the men surrounding Ben let out a groan, nearly in unison, and rose to their feet.

“Dammit, Fred,” the lanky man said, his face contorted in disgust. “Why you gotta say that shit?”

Fred shrugged and fiddled with the knife.

The lanky man let out a long-suffering sigh. “Besides, if it’s _in_ him, no one could see it. Ain’t that the point of a badge?”

Beady eyes squinted at Ben. “But if we leave him all cut up, means that e’ryone knows who cut him up. People gotta learn not to mess with the Praetorian guard.”

Another groan rippled through the men surrounding Ben.

A man with a stringy, red beard heaved another sigh. “Fred, we ain’t been called that in years. Just…” He flapped his hand at the Rebels. “Go over there, why don’t you?”

Fred grumbled and slid his knife into the sheath. “It sounds better.”

“Not when there ain’t nobody who can pronounce it right.”

They pulled Ben to his feet, wrenched his arms behind his back until he thought the sinews would snap. The badge glinted in a dirty hand, oblivious of its betrayal.

“What?”

Finn had spoken. His face was a mask of horrified disbelief.

Artoo and Rose gaped, while Maz bared her teeth. A red flush was creeping up Poe’s neck and inflaming his clenched jaw, his flared nostrils. The look in his eyes could have melted a bullet.

One of the Hands that held Ben’s elbow laughed, and the sound rattled through his eardrums and into his ribcage.

“Get this, Ives, they all didn’t know!”

The rhinoceros man, the one called Ives, bellowed in mirth. “Well, dayum! That’s real rich.” He walked to Amilyn and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. She stared at him, expressionless. “You all had a viper under your noses.” One of his grubby fingers chucked her underneath the chin. “Could’a been bit.”

What happened next was more like a series of flashes: snippets that would forever stay burned into Ben’s memories.

A shill shout that sounded like the cry of a coyote, which was strange, because he hadn’t seen a coyote in weeks.

Guns went off, so fast and close that it was as if he was inside a firework. Fewer colors, though. Only red.

The glint off of Rose’s brass knuckles was nearly blinding as she swung them into someone’s face.

The hold on Ben’s arms released and _heavens,_ it felt better than a cold drink on a hot day, but before he could really appreciate it, a hard shove sent him to the ground. There was a spike of pain as his palm landed on a cactus.

A swift, sudden pain raked across his thigh.

The pain seemed to shift something within him, and for a second, it was as if everything around Ben paused.

His fist was just impacting a Hand’s knee, and he could feel the grind and then the break of the joint. Through ratty trouser-clad legs, he could see the Rebels: Poe’s hand in the middle of smacking back the hammer on his pistol, Rey kneeing a man in the groin, Amilyn still surrounded by Hands. Ives was wrapping his fingers around the older woman’s arm, and Ben had a passing thought that he’d make her dress dirty.

He realized, right at that moment that without a doubt, there was no way they could win this.

Amilyn’s eyes flicked to Ben’s. She gave him a short nod, and with that nod, somehow, Ben realized that she’d known. She’d known, and hadn’t said anything. She’d known, and still smiled at him.

The last snippet of memory was how bright the sparking fuse looked against her white-glove.

Then, time sped up once more.

He thought of only one person, and she wasn’t close enough. Ben scrambled to his feet, gave the greasy outlaw in front of him a hearty shove, and made a beeline for Rey, even though his thigh screamed in protest. She was reaching for her guns, and yelped when he tackled her. They landed together and Ben curled his body around hers, blind to her struggling.

He expected that it would be loud, but he’d never anticipated exactly how loud it really was. Heat scoured his skin and singed his nostrils. Burning metal, burning hair, burning flesh. Nausea squirmed in his gut like a centipede.

When he opened his eyes, Rey’s mouth was moving around silent words. Tears streaked down her face, mixing with dirt and drops of blood. She shoved him away and stood, and finally, sound drifted into his ears.

“...she do? Ben, what did she do?”

Ben struggled upright.

Men were dragging themselves over the scorched ground. Parts of men were…

 _No_. He couldn’t look at that. He couldn’t look at the empty, singed white glove, either, that lay draped over a rock like a discarded handkerchief.

One of the mules lay dead in its traces, the other reared and rolled the whites of its eyes. Horses were scattered across the grass. With a lurch of fear, Ben searched the camp. No black horses on their sides, no orange-and-white pelts splattered with blood. He looked more closely at a clump of trees, then nearly slumped in relief as Tie’s snout peered from behind the foliage, and BeeBee’s nose whuffed underneath the black horse’s neck.

A gunshot rang out, and Ben spun to watch as Poe methodically shot any men who still moved. Red blossomed on one of his arms, right above the elbow. One by one, the remaining Hands shuddered and went limp. Rose stood behind him, brass knuckles held loosely in her battered fists. Maz let go of the dented frying pan in her small hands and it fell to the ground with a clang. The hammer tumbled from Artoo’s grip. Finn was still pulling himself from the grass, his eyes wide and his breath coming in sharp pants.

As all of their gazes landed on Ben, each one filled with enough hatred that it could instantly boil a kettle of ice water.

Ben shouldn’t have been surprised when Poe’s pistol settled on him without any hesitation. He automatically reached for the revolver at his hip, but of course, it lay in the grass at the edge of the clearing.

“No!” Rey shouted, and it made Poe flinch. She threw herself in front of Ben, palms out. There was a smear of blood on her back. Despite the fact that her friend was about to shoot him, his first instinct was to check her skin, make sure the blood wasn’t hers.

Poe’s face twisted. “He...he’s a…”

“Don’t do it, please!”

Those thick, black brows eased. His gun drifted low, as if too heavy for his arm.

“You knew,” Poe said. Monotone and final. “You fucking _knew.”_

“I…” Her voice cracked. “It’s not...it…”

Realization bloomed over Poe’s features. “He’s the one’s been followin’ us.” He took Rey’s silence as confirmation, and gave a bitter scoff. “And you made it that much easier for him. Plus, maybe even promised him a bit of tail on the side.”

Rage bloomed in Ben’s chest. “How dare you—”

At the same time, Rey cried out, “Is that what you think of me?”

They were both interrupted by a croaking ‘Rey.’ Finn was looking at her the way Ben wanted to look at his badge.

_Betrayer. Backstabber._

“Were you planning on telling us, ever?” Finn said quietly.

“I…”

Ben couldn’t see her face, but he could tell she was crying. His fists ached with the need to pull her close and let her tears soak into his jacket. Not now, though. Any time but now.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he heard her say.

“And how was it supposed to be?” Poe snapped. He pointed at the churned, red earth. “This is your fault, Rey. You brought this upon us when you let him along. It’s all because of you.”

Rey took a step backwards.

Anger roiled within Ben, so fearsome that it shook his hands and rattled his breath. Poe had no idea what he was saying. He didn’t know about the guilt that Rey had burdened herself with from her childhood, the guilt that Poe was unknowingly jabbing at like a child with a sharpened stick.

“Doan be too harsh, Poe,” Maz said, her lips pursed tightly. “Amilyn made her own decisions.”

Poe spun to the small woman. “Which she wouldn’t have had to make if it weren’t for _him.”_ He aimed a finger in Ben’s direction.

“What happened in Shiprock was all your idea,” Ben said. “If you should blame anyone, you should blame yourself.”

Poe took a step towards Ben, and before either could say a word, Artoo cleared his throat.

“Can’t change the past,” he said. “No use trying. But for now, I think you should go.”

Ben nodded and began to back towards his gunbelt, hands out. “Would be best.” Lord, it had been nice to be part of a group, though, despite the pompous prick and the congealing gravy. Perhaps solitude wasn’t as great as it had once been. He’d send word to Snoke, then pick out another outlaw group to tail. A return to his old life.

A life without Rey.

Fuck, that was the thought that hurt the most. He’d have to get used to that pain in his heart.

Rey turned to him, her nose red, her eyes watering. She reached out to him, when Artoo’s voice pulled on their attention.

“I...I was meaning you too, Rey.”

“What?” She looked at her friends, but no one objected. “But I—”

Ben shook with the effort it took to keep his fists at his sides. What kind of friends were _these?_

Finn wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. It came away wet. “How can we trust you after this?”

“Not for forever,” Artoo said, with a short glance at the others. “Just for a bit.” His sigh was far from steady.

“But…” Rey sniffed. “But they’re still after you. You’d need more gun hands, and—”

“Let us worry about that,” Poe said, his tone clipped.

Ben took her limp hand in his. “Come on,” he said softly. His heart was breaking for her, for the woman torn in two, for the sad girl losing her family for the second time.

His dream from last night hurtled into him: the feel of the ropes biting into his wrists, the fear on Rey’s face as the horses started to pull.

“I’m sorry,” Rey blurted to the group.

Ben gave her hand gentle tug and she followed, like a broken dog. His leg smarted something fierce; a bullet had grazed his thigh, he saw now, and blood soaked into his trousers. Not deep enough to do any permanent damage, but deep enough that he’d need to bandage it soon.

As they buckled on their gun belts and started for their horses, he heard Rose’s voice.

“Anyone gonna say something?”

“No.” That was Poe, he was sure of it.

Rose’s voice again, softer. “I meant about Amilyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF.  
> The smut train derailed for a moment to make room for the mighty, mighty SMANGST train (smut + angst) that blasted along the rails.  
> I’m going to be taking another mini month-long break from this story (to recover from angst, to write silly things, and to participate in the Reylo Writing Den’s winter fic exchange). If you’d like to read something that makes you not sad, let me shamelessly recommend my other fics, helpfully included with their various levels of smut, banter, angst, and silliness:  
>  Wicked Game : (Rey/Kylo Ren, canon-compliant) smut 9/10, banter 6/10, angst 4/10, silliness 8/10  
>  Turbulence  : (Poe/Jaina Solo, canon-convergent) smut 8/10, banter 9/10, angst 3/10, silliness 7/10  
>  Of Yoga and Werewolves : (Rey/Ben, modern, paranormal AU) smut 10/10, banter 8/10, angst 2/10, silliness 19/10


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took a helluva lot longer than expected. Thanks for sticking it out with me, my beloved smut train passengers! 
> 
> Ohdang! I made a 'Wanted' Youtube playlist; watch it [ here! ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLT4RuyR0WeEAAKAPU96s68w8yR9VTrIdt)
> 
> Thanks again to loveofescapism for the beta!

The journal was heavier than she’d thought it would be. Rey ran a finger over the swirling script, marveling in each flourish, at the preciseness and beauty of it all. When Ben had gone off to refill their canteens, she’d rummaged through his saddlebags in search of a few strips of jerky and instead found the leather-bound book. He might not like her pouring over his thoughts, his letters, and his wonderful scribbles and sketches, but it wasn’t like Rey could read much of what he’d written, anyway. Type-set words were hard enough to decipher; letters that flowed into each other gracefully were an entirely different beast.

She carefully turned a page and let her eyes drift over the lines on the thick paper: Tie’s profile, a feathered hoof, perfectly even scrawls of Ben’s writing. The word ‘Denver.’ His pen dug harder here, nearly ripping through to the next page, and Rey could guess that these words would be more than a little angry. He’d have just gotten his scar from the saloon explosion, his skin still raw and ragged.

But Rey didn’t want to think of explosions any longer. A tightness crept up her chest and seized around her lungs.

She flipped forward in his journal like she was flipping forward in time.

They’d crossed into Colorado two days ago, heading for the little mining town of Silverton which lay nestled in the mountains. They’d made a quick stop in Durango so that Ben could send a telegram to his boss with an update on the Devil’s Hand’s recent whereabouts, as well as an update on where Ben himself was headed. Resupply had been quick: food, bullets, and a brown glass bottle of iodine for Ben’s leg. The bullet had only grazed his thigh, but even after he’d bandaged it with a spare shirt, it had taken a while to stop bleeding and Rey had expressed her worry.

On their way out of town, they passed by the beginnings of the railyard. Signs proclaimed its next destination; in a few more years, they would have been able to take a cushioned ride to Silverton and spend an hour in a rocking train car instead of plodding for days, leaning into their saddles as their horses splashed through the chill water of the Animas. Rey’s disappointed grumbling had been drowned out by the burbling river.

Another day’s journey, and they were now camped on a hillside within a short ride of their destination. They had traveled higher as they’d gone north and the thin air was pungent with the sweet vanilla scent of ponderosas and the tang of lichen. White-barked aspen trees surrounded Rey where she sat; their leaves quivered and rustled against a blue sky. Jagged mountains punctured the horizon. Grosbeaks and warblers flitted between branches. Off on a far hill, an elk bugled long and lonesome.

From where Rey sat on the slope, the buildings of Silverton were arranged in a tiny grid, visible over the saddled backs of BeeBee and Tie.

Silverton would be safe, Ben had said. It would be quiet and far enough from the usual haunts of the Devil’s Hand that they could settle for a spell. Long enough to reorient. Long enough to heal. When Ben had said as such, he’d given Rey a peculiar look, as if he wasn’t just referring to his leg.

But she knew that whatever had broken within her had been broken for a while, and a little rest in a pretty town wasn’t going to fix it.

Rey gritted her teeth, her hands tightening on Ben’s journal.

_Don’t think on it._

She lifted her thoughts off of that particular track and settled them on the fact that right before Leia had left, she’d told the Rebels that they would all rendezvous in Silverton. It hadn’t been a fortnight since the General had been away, yet the nerves still buzzed in Rey’s brain like the crackling of a live wire.

Her misgivings were kept to herself. She had a bad feeling about all of this, but what else was there to do? And really, how likely was it that in a town of 400 people, they’d run into the exact ones they didn’t want to run into?

Rey frowned. She’d never been skilled at math, yet it still seemed too likely for her preference.

Leaves and twigs crunched behind her and she knew that Ben had returned from the stream.

“I could have done that, you know,” she said. “If your leg’s still hurting.”

Ben grunted. “I needed the walk. Wouldn’t do for it to stiffen so I couldn’t ride.”

She swiveled to face him, the journal forgotten in her lap. “No need hurting yourself more just to—” Rey broke off when she saw the alarmed look that Ben aimed at the open journal.

Hell, he was probably thinking she’d swiped it to get intel on what he knew of the Rebels, or what he knew of all the other gangs and wandering outlaws.

“It’s pretty,” she said, as if that was a good enough reason to flip through someone’s private thoughts, and worried her lower lip between her teeth. “I’d…” Rey looked at the book and rubbed a thumb over one page. “I’d like it if you taught me how to write like this.”

The full canteens sloshed as he dropped them to the ground. More twigs crunched under his boots, but she didn’t glance up.

“It’s pretty,” she repeated. “And flows real nice. All I’ve ever managed were scratches that look like they’ve come from a cave wall.”

“I could do that.” Ben’s voice was gentle, and when she peered up at him, he had a smile on his lips: the soft kind, the kind that she knew would be sweet and tender if she kissed it.

Rey fingered a page and traced the curves of Tie’s sketched tail. “Finn was teaching me a bit, but…” Her sentence faded into a low sigh.

“They were wrong, to kick you out like that.” She could hear the bitterness in his voice, the barely-suppressed anger. When he ran a hand through his hair, she saw that it was damp; he must have taken the time to wash it in the stream.

“No,” Rey said, “they weren’t.”

Ben stomped a few feet down the incline on which Rey sat and stared at the distant town. There was a tightness in his shoulders that showed even through his clothes. He spun to her, and she saw the slightest wobble in his injured leg.

“It was my fault,” he said. “It was my suggestion to go with you, and it made—”

Rey scoffed. “It might have been your suggestion, but I was the one that listened.”

He waved her reasoning away with one large hand. “And then that...that... _Poe.”_ He spit out the name as if it had bit him.

Some of the pages in the journal crinkled when she closed it. “Poe doesn’t like lawmen.”

“Criminals never do.”

“I’m a criminal.”

Ben’s jaw worked and he scrubbed his hair once more. Delicate droplets of water landed on Rey’s forehead. “It’s...it’s not the same,” he said.

How must it have been, to live his life thinking that there were only heroes and villains? That there was nothing but good and evil? The sudden encounter with the in-between must have been an awful, surprising sting.

She fiddled with the journal’s closure strap. “We all have our reasons for why we do what we do, Ben. No matter what side of the law we’re on.” Her eyes flicked to him and his whiskey gaze met hers for a moment before he shook his head and glared at the trees. Rey sighed and tried again. “It’s how Poe was raised. Can you blame him for that?”

Ben’s jaw twitched. “I suppose he was raised by criminals, then.”

“Not at all,” she said, and set the journal on a grass tussock. It seemed wrong for it to rest in the dirt. “His parents lived south of here, maybe in the New Mexico territories, maybe farther. He’s never said for sure. It was a real small town, though. I think there was a dispute with land, or cattle, and one day a posse of lawmen came through town, hurling accusations at anyone they saw. Just wanted someone to blame; didn’t much matter if it was the truth. Shot a lot of people and took whatever they wanted. Shot Poe’s father, right through the arm, and it was so mangled that it had to come off. And…” Rey pinched her lips, rubbed the fraying cuff of her jacket. “Nine months later, Poe was born. Didn’t look anything like his pappy. He grew up with a gun and a fearsome hatred of anyone with a badge.”

“Ah.” Ben had set his hands on his hips and stared at the ground. His face had shifted; instead of anger, it held uncertainty. “How would he feel to know that you’ve told me this?”

Rey shrugged. “He probably wouldn’t like it. But he’s not here right now.” Pain stabbed in her chest at that thought, and she wondered how long it would take for the blade to dull.

“What he said still wasn’t true.”

“Which part?”

His voice softened, no longer bitter. “The part about it being your fault.”

Rey didn’t need to ask him what he was referring to. More pain burst within her, bright and aching. She gave a short laugh that twisted in midair and finished as a broken sob. Swallowing harshly, she stared at her hands in her lap as they became blurry with unshed tears.

“Rey…”

Sticks crunched under his uneven steps as he came to her.

Rey wiped her sleeve over her eyes. “I’m going to feel guilty for this. Don’t try and convince me out of it. Just let me feel it.” She _had_ to feel it. If the guilt was gone, then she might start to believe that people would stay in her life forever: that friends would never leave, that loved ones would never die.

Ben’s knee touched hers as he sat next to her. His presence was big, and warm, and comforting.

“What can I do?” He said it as if it were an embrace.

She looked into his whiskey eyes, dark and endless. “Distract me.”

His kiss was gentle and tentative. The rough texture of the short, unshaven hairs on his chin and upper lip were a stark contrast to the soft press of his lips. But it was all _too_ gentle, and it wrenched something open inside her, because after all she’d done, all she’d made happen, he still seemed to think that she deserved sweetness.

Tears fell from her cheeks and mingled in their mouths. Rey pulled away. Her fingers fumbled at the buttons on his jacket. “Distract me _more.”_

He lay his large hands over hers to halt the attack on his buttons. “Are you sure?”

Rey nodded quickly. “I lied.” Her throat was tight, her chest cramping. “I don’t want to feel the guilt. I don’t want to feel anything but...please, Ben, I just...I want to feel you.”

When his lips met hers again, they were rougher. Firmer. It was better, like this. His fingers tangled in her hair and tipped her head backwards so her breasts pressed against his chest, exposing her neck to the scrape of his teeth. She grappled with his jacket and shrugged it into the grass. _Closer,_ her body clamored. _Closer._

The skim of his fingers over her skin seemed to kick the stabbing sadness and frustration just that much farther away. She basked in all of the sensations as if they were steam from a hot spring: each condensing droplet cleansing her mind and lightening her heart. Rey tugged at the fasteners on his trousers, but he stilled her.

“I’m taking my time with you for this,” he said, giving her mouth a heated look.

“Then do it.”

She helped him remove his trousers when he winced at the bending of his leg. As he slipped the shirt over her head, his lips trailed after the hem: skimming her ribs, up the swell of her breast, across her collarbone. The air was crisp against her bared skin and Ben’s mouth closed on her gooseflesh-covered breast as her undershirt fell to the grass. Heat screamed through her veins with each touch of his hands, each press of his mouth. His touch roamed over her hips and he rubbed her clitoris—brief, skimming touches like the brush of a wing—before he lay her back on the scrubby grass and the discarded leaves and covered her naked body with his.

Ben’s tongue began a meandering journey down her torso and Rey thrilled with anticipation, because he was going to...to... _again_ …and she knew what to do with her hands this time, and...

Suddenly, Ben winced and barked a curse before sagging to his side. He gave her a look of apology.

“What? What happened? Are you all right?” She reached for him as he sent a fierce glower to the linen wrapped around his thigh.

Ben let out a frustrated chuff. “Probably should have taken you up on your offer of needle and thread.” His head slumped and soft locks of black hair tickled her belly.

“What...what do you need?” She rubbed one of the locks between her fingers.

A wry smile creased one cheek. “What would you like?”

Rey bit her lip. “I did like it when you, um...with your mouth. But if you’re hurting, then—”

He silenced her with the wet drag of his tongue alongside her belly button. Determination flashed across his face, and more than a little cunning. She found herself becoming a hair nervous, like a rabbit spotted by a fox, although in this situation, she longed for the clamp of his jaws.

Ben rolled to his back. “Get on, bandit.”

Ah, she knew this.

Rey rose up to her knees and straddled him. Right as she was about to grasp his cock (and _oh,_ it made her mouth water: the sight of it in the sunshine, standing tall and proud with its flushed head and delicate veins), he wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

“But—” she started.

Were Ben’s eyes darker?

“Higher,” he said.

Rey frowned in confusion, though she followed his instructions so that she straddled his waist instead of his hips.

“Higher.”

Her knees pressed into grassy tussocks as she shuffled up his torso. Daisies tickled her thighs, downed aspen leaves crunched under her weight.

“Higher.”

Where—where would she stop? She was rapidly distancing herself from his cock. The width of his torso necessitated a wider spread of her legs and as she dragged herself up his body, she felt her wet cunt smear arousal across his chest. She wanted to wince at the lewdness of it, but any embarrassment or apology flew from her mind at the sound of his ragged groan. He was staring at her nethers with all the ravenous purpose of a carnivore.

Exactly what he was intending came to her then. A fresh onslaught of worries swept into her thoughts.

How would he breathe? Wouldn’t she crush him? Would she hurt his neck? She’d asked for this, but hadn’t intended... _this._ How... _how would he breathe?_

“Higher.”

She’d reached his broad shoulders and hovered over his neck.

“Rey,” he said with a twitch of an eyebrow, like a challenge.  

She let out a hesitant whine in response. “But what if I suffocate you, and you—”

Ben didn’t respond in words; he growled, low and rumbling, then framed her hips in his big hands and yanked her cunt straight to his mouth. Her cry pierced the air. Both horses jerked their heads up from the grass. Normally, Rey would have been a little embarrassed at the thought of being seen by any sets of eyes, but the frantic sweep of Ben’s tongue over her aching skin was a more than suitable distraction.

Her hands dove into his hair and tightened. Memories and worries crumbled and began to drift like burned sheets of paper. The tension that had imbued her limbs for days didn’t seem to know what to do when faced with the wicked tongue and wide, capable mouth of Ben Solo.

She focused on each flicker against her clitoris, each slow, tender rasp of his teeth against her labia, how she could feel the prickle of his facial hair here too: hovering on the edge of pleasure and pain as it scraped her most sensitive parts.

The memories continued to dissolve.

 _Good._ Sun soaked onto her shoulders and head until she felt almost too warm. Ben’s breath came hot and rapid from his nose as it pressed into her curls. So she wasn’t suffocating him, then. She bucked her hips experimentally against his face and he groaned, gripped her hips more tightly, encouraged her to move.

This was a different sort of riding, she thought in a brief moment of humor. How many others were there that she hadn’t known of? How many others would he want to teach her?

When he had done this act in the hotel, the light had been dim. The clouds outside had been thick and melancholy. Here, in the bright sunlight that exposed every freckle and illuminated the sharp edges of her hip bones, she could see the amber gleam in his eyes and the rosy cast to his cheeks where her thighs pressed into him.

Sparkling tension rose from her legs, to her chest, to her neck. Every lungful of air seemed to stretch her skin and snap at her nerves like a whip. She could feel her climax build, and build, and it broke inside her with a suddenness that left her gasping. She hunched over, bracing her palms in the grass and sinking her limp body onto Ben’s face.

A muffled grunt came from beneath her.

“Oh,” she panted and lifted her hips. “Sorry.”

Her shining climax covered his smirk. “Was that the distraction you had in mind?”

The air was fresh and clear as she sucked it into her lungs. “It’s a good start.”

With his injured leg, she would have to do most of the work. Together, they shuffled over to an aspen and Ben leaned against the pale trunk as she straddled him, this time the way she’d initially intended.

He cupped her cheek, and brushed a tender finger along her jawline as if she was a small, fragile thing. His face was filled with an expression so heartfelt and joyous and smitten that she couldn’t bear to look at it.

His cock was stiff and spectacular in her hand, pale against her tanned palms. She rubbed it against her soaked self once, twice. A low, choked gasp fell from his lips. She looked at those instead—plump, shining, parted around charmingly uneven teeth—and then took him.

Ben had been inside her three times. Just three. And still, she felt she would never grow weary of the stretch, of the ache, of the sensation of utter fullness the very moment that he breached her. His breath came fast and puffed against the damp skin of her neck.

She could feel the weight of his eyes on her: too heavy, too hopeful. So she began to move on him with the purposeful pace that he’d taught her, focusing on the dig of his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips every time she bottomed out, the stark contrast of his black hair where it snagged on the ashy-grey bark behind his head.

Although the memories of flame and blood had faded, the pain was still there. It lurked in her chest like a coiled snake and she could just about feel the rattle. She wanted Ben to plow into her hard enough to take her breath away, as if he could fuck the thoughts and the feelings out of her—but he couldn’t. Not now. His damned leg wouldn’t let him.

So Rey fucked him harder instead.

She tightened her grip on his shoulders, using his body as leverage as she slammed herself onto him, grunting and panting with the effort. Her thighs began to burn. Sweat beaded on her neck and trickled between her bouncing breasts. A clench of her inner muscles heightened the thick glide of his cock. Just a little more, a little rub and a little—

“Rey…”

Yes. _Yes._

He said her name again, and Rey realized that he wasn’t saying it with the breathless finality of climax.

That look was back on his face—that blend of adoration and concern that stripped her heart bare.

The coil in her chest tightened. She shoved it down deep.

“Touch me,” she said, then pulled one of his hands to her cunt in case he needed further instruction. His thumb ground against her clitoris and she bucked her hips into the bright, sweet pressure.

It was going to happen again; she could feel it in the tingle in her toes, the sparkling shimmer along her skin. Her breath came in shuddering pants that she exhaled against his neck, into his hair.

Ben gave a short, frustrated growl. He clutched her loose braid with his free hand and used it to tip her head backwards so he could claim her mouth in a rough, fierce kiss. He kissed her with an intensity that told Rey he knew that she was trying to distance herself, shield her mind and her feelings from him, and he didn’t appreciate any of it. He wanted her— _all_ of her. Despite the fact that she’d just been using his body to make herself feel better. Despite _everything_.

One last rough jerk of his thumb against her swollen skin and she was careening through infinity, screaming into his mouth, sinking her nails into his shoulders as her climax flooded every nerve.

Rey stilled on his lap and pulled her mouth away just enough to meet his eyes. Their noses brushed, and she could see that there was...there was _something_ in his gaze, and it took only a second for her to realize what it was.

Love.

Goddammit.

No.

_No._

The painful coil within her chest snapped and something akin to realization flooded through her veins.

Rey framed his face in her hands, felt the solidness of his cheekbones, the sharp angle of his jawline, the barest brush of short stubble.

He couldn’t love her, because then, it would be that much easier to admit that she loved him in return. And she couldn’t love him. Love became loss, which became guilt.

Guilt had no home in a loveless heart. So she didn’t love his dry humor, or the creases at the corners of his smile, or the ferocity with which he protected his ideals.

Unshed tears pricked at her eyes and Rey kissed him so that he wouldn’t see it. Her lips moved over his like an apology, like a salve. Strong arms wrapped around her and held her close as slicked skin rubbed against slicked skin.

Rey rode him again. Not the brutal, selfish pace of before; but slower. Deeper.

Beautiful words spilled from Ben’s parted lips: blushing praise, delicate endearments that she wanted to enclose in a ribboned package and tuck into her pocket.

And then, his shuddering gasp, the stuttered, “I—I’m going to—”

He gripped her waist as if to pull her off, but she squeezed her legs around his hips. No one had ever come inside her. And just as Ben had silently asked of her, she wanted all of him.

“Please, Ben,” she said with a gasp. “Please.”

His broken groan splashed over her as she felt the wet warmth spill into her cunt. He held her so close that his heartbeat echoed in her own chest. There might be consequences of this, the stubborn, rational part of her mind scolded, but those consequences were not for today.

She brushed a kiss to his temple, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Simple, unthinking touches; the sort more at home in a bedroom, not under a blue sky and the rustle of new leaves.

When Rey stood to dress, she could feel the trickle of his spend down her thigh, like the long, slow drag of a fingertip.

Ben was fastening his vest when he spoke.

“I know you said you would keep your surname a secret, but—”

“It’s because I don’t know it,” she interrupted, then bit her lip and stared at the easy wave of the grasses between the trees. She hadn’t meant to tell him: she could blame it on the fizzing lightness leftover from sex, perhaps, or the suddenness of his question. An embarrassed flush warmed the back of her neck. “I don’t remember what it was.”

Ben brushed her shoulder and when she turned, he seemed awful nervous.

“It’s…” He worked his mouth. “You could have mine, if you’d like.”

Rey sucked in a breath. Terror and excitement warred within her as she tried not to think about the fact that she still hadn’t told him she had been committing robberies for his mother.

Ben’s mouth worked again. His jaw clenched. “And...and I don’t want you to think it’s only because I finished in…” The tips of his ears pinked, and Rey smiled despite herself. He continued, “I'm not saying it in case anything...comes to fruition.” He gestured at her belly with a jerky motion that attempted to be casual.

“Then why’d you say it?”

“Because I…” He was staring at a stand of aspens as if he could find the answer within their bark. His gaze softened and drifted down to his hands. “I know little of love. But I think that I…” He must have seen her tense, for he broke off and scowled at the trees again.

She’d expected dread at the words—and these weren’t even those exact words—but instead, she felt a strange fizzing lightness in her chest: similar to one she’d experienced with this damned man before, though this time it was bigger. Brighter. It flooded her chest and her skull and made her want to shout out to the sun and the stars.   

Ben raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was presumptuous. We’ve know each other for”—he let out a scoff—“days.”

He began to turn from her. Rey grabbed his lapels and pulled him down to a kiss neither precise nor dignified.

“Tell you what, Marsh,” she said after a moment, “I’ll think on it.”

Tomorrow they would head into Silverton, and in Silverton, they would wait.

There would be plenty of time to think.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOF.  
> I already said ‘thank you’ for continuing to read this, but I’m gonna say it again: THANK YOU, ALL OF YOU BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, YOU.  
> There exist people in this writing sphere that do a crazy thing where they write chapters ahead of time so that they don’t fall far behind when the muse flits away on a long vacation (and doesn’t call, doesn’t write…).  
> This may come as a surprise to many of you, but I am not one of those people. Maybe it’s because I’m so excited upon completing a chapter that I just HAVE to share it. Maybe it’s because I’m terrible at managing my time and planning. Maybe it’s both. _Who knoowwws._  
>  While this was in its little haitus, I wrote these two ridiculous things, included here with the tried and true (? sure. why not.) system of me rating it on how much smut/banter/angst/silliness it has:  
> The Art of Getting Off : (Modern AU, Rey is a dork, Ben is a super hot ski instructor. They get snowed in. Sexy shenanigans ensue.) smut 10/10, banter 9/10, angst 2/10, silliness 9/10  
> All About the Upstroke: (Modern AU, Rey is still a dork, Ben is also a dork. She had a crush on him in high school. They meet at a ska concert. Sexy shenanigans ensue.) smut 10/10, banter 7/10, angst 3/10, silliness 8/10
> 
> There will still be updates to this, but again, they’re gonna come on real slow-like. I’m neck-deep in a fantasy/adventure AU with HarpiaHarpyja and we’re kind of freaking out about it. Which why it has so many words. Keep a keen eye out for that in the coming months! 
> 
> YAY.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As previously stated in many chapters (and pretty much everything I’ve written), I am an excellent procrastinator. This most recent procrastination has resulted in historically accurate piano saloon songs for 1880, since, yep, you guessed it, we got ourselves a whopper of a saloon scene in this chapter. (Except, of course, for that one song that’s linked within the chapter. That one’s not historical at all. *Exaggerated wink*)  
> [ Oh Susannah ](https://youtu.be/cqqNJbfy75o)   
> [ Little Brown Jug ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07T7rREzYMc)   
> [ Some fun saloon music samplers ](https://store.cdbaby.com/cd/authenticsaloonpianomusi)
> 
>  
> 
> Ohdang! I made a 'Wanted' Youtube playlist; watch it [ here! ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLT4RuyR0WeEAAKAPU96s68w8yR9VTrIdt)

Ben sipped his whiskey and winced. It was cheap stuff, as sharp as a tack, and burned all the way down to his stomach. 

Guttering oil lamps lit the saloon, illuminating the clouds of cigar smoke and making the room look as if it was filled with ghosts. Someone plunked out ‘Oh Susannah’ on an out of tune piano while a man who’d had at least one drink too many slurred the lyrics and leaned on the pianist’s shoulder. Harsh laughter burst through the smoke, accompanied by the sound of shuffling cards.

There was very little of his drink left. Ben drained it, then winced again. That was the thing about whiskey: it hurt no matter how he encountered it, whether it was slammed back in a glass or exploding against his face. 

Maybe he should switch to beer. 

A quick wave and a toss of a coin, and he snatched the mug from the bartender’s hand before he could even set it on the bar’s sticky, wooden surface and drained half the cool drink in a single swallow.

It had been a hell of a day. 

Ben’s stomach tightened and the beer churned alongside the whiskey in a way that made him regret his choice to switch alcohols.

Yesterday though…

Yesterday had been wonderful. A smile fought with his bitter mood and ultimately won. The bartender gave Ben a satisfied nod, apparently thinking that the brew was to blame for his surly patron’s change in attitude. Ben didn’t bother to correct him.

 

He and Rey’d had a late start the previous day. The water in the coffee tin had taken its sweet time boiling, so they crested the slope above Silverton in the afternoon. 

From the hill, Ben had barely made out the painted clapboard of a saloon and gleaming windows of storefronts. Tin roofs glimmered under the sun, people milled about along the main dirt street, horses shied at shouts and grating laughter. 

When he said he would go into town first by himself, Rey had leapt to her feet and immediately voiced her objections. It would be dangerous. What if the Devil’s Hand had made it up here? He would be alone, without anyone to watch his back. 

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “I’m a lawman. No one would dare shoot me in the middle of a town.” 

“I should go instead. No one knows my face.” 

There had been something off in her demeanor—a jittery anxiety that struck him as odd. Her eyes kept snapping to the buildings, lips white with how tightly she pressed them together. It wasn’t with the fear of vengeful outlaws, though. He could tell that much. 

But finally, he managed to convince her. He would make sure the hotel had a room available, check for any telegrams from Snoke, and return. 

“I’ll be no more than two hours,” he’d said as a way to placate her. “Then you can charge after me.” 

Rey had lifted her chin and set him with an irritated glare, though the anxiety still flashed in her eyes. “There’ll be no charging. I might mosey.” 

“Two hours.” 

She’d waved him away, though he could feel her eyes on his back until his boots scuffed at the main road’s packed dirt. 

However unlikely it was that any Hands who’d seen their faces were milling around Silverton, Ben had another reason for wanting Rey safe on the hillside—if Snoke were to see her...well, she wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. 

Years of capturing and hanging outlaws always left someone with a distinct idea of how outlaws appeared, and Ben was more than certain Snoke would take one look at Rey—the baggy trousers on her hips, the dirt crusted on her bullet-filled belt, and the air of barely disguised desperation that always seemed to surround anyone on the wrong side of the law—and before Ben could open his mouth to voice a single word vouching for her respectability, she’d be behind bars.

The telegraph office had a swinging sign above the door and posters in the window that advertised the current rates. A clean, tidy shop, and yet it held nothing for him. 

The sheriff’s building was much less clean, and not at all tidy, though there were no messages, no notices, and the sheriff merely shrugged and waved Ben away with a dismissive flick of his grimy hand.

Ben trudged back into the street. Not that he’d really expected anything so soon, but he had hoped. The sooner he passed on his information about the Devil’s Hand to Snoke, the sooner he could leave this whole dirty business behind.

As he passed a tailor’s storefront, his feet stilled. Behind dusty glass, slick, crisp suits hung on cloth mannequins. Hats of all shapes and styles perched on a spinning rack by the door. Ben sent a quick look at the sky—the distance between the sun and the mountains told him that he’d only been gone a quarter of an hour. He had plenty of time. The shop had a bell attached to the door, and it chimed as Ben entered. 

The two hours were nearly up by the time he made it back to Rey. She hadn’t noticed him approach, thankfully, and he took the time to lean against an aspen and simpy watch her. She was petting Tie’s nose, scratching behind his ears, and speaking soft words to the black horse. Tie looked at Rey as if she was made of fresh hay: ears forward, neck arched, all attention on whatever she was whispering.

She may have looked natural with a set of shining revolvers in her grip, but here, under the rustling leaves, her hair down and a lazy smile on her lips, she looked to be at home. Ben wasn’t quite sure what that meant; he supposed it was just as sensical as a stuttered proposal to a woman he’d known less than a week. 

Ben frowned at himself at the memory of how he’d offered her his name. What kind of life could he give another? All that he possessed was his guns, his broken watch, a nice horse, a life of constant travel, and the uncertainty that would accompany his leaving: would he be shot by an outlaw? Bludgeoned by a wrathful subject of a wanted poster that didn’t much care for the shine of a marshal’s badge? 

And, for the love of Pete, he’d even finished inside her. True, she’d asked him to, but still. If he couldn’t offer her much of a life, what could he offer a baby? Rey hadn’t been too concerned though, and she’d mentioned later that night that her menses were far from regular. A life on the run was hard on a body. Therefore, she’d added with a baudy wink, it would take a lot more than one pretty afternoon to get anything started. 

Ben chuffed quietly under the aspens as he continued to watch her with his horse. He’d thought about children, sure. But it was in the distant, impossible sort of way, much like a rabbit would think about the moon. 

He wasn’t even sure he could picture such a scene now. Could he possibly think that Rey would be content settled in a shanty, spending her time darning clothes and nursing a babe? If he didn’t want to draw her attention, Ben would have snorted at the very idea. 

Of course, even if he was able to think of a future for them, he was forgetting the main obstacle: she hadn’t said ‘yes.’

Rey took several steps away before reaching her hand out to the horse. Tie didn’t move. She gestured with her fingers, and the horse blew out through his nose, his hooves planted firmly in the dirt. 

Ben huffed a soft laugh. Of all of the horses he had owned, Tie was by far the prettiest, but also the most stubborn. Teaching him not to shy at a gunshot had been the longest month of Ben’s life. Before the training was over, he’d suffered more than one bruised toe and several blackened toenails from a misplaced, panicked hoof. Trying to teach the horse any of her fancy tricks would be like teaching a slug to sing the Star Spangled Banner. 

Rey cleared her throat once, took one more step backwards, and bowed low. And Tie, the stubborn beast that Ben had barely managed to teach how to plod halfheartedly forward to the sound of a whistle, stretched out his foreleg and lowered his head to the ground. 

Ben’s jaw dropped in utter disbelief. Good Lord, he’d apparently been doing all of his training incorrectly. Who knew that his mule of a horse just needed a bandit’s touch? Rey sang out her praise in high-pitched coos and Tie lipped at the sugar cube in her palm. 

Ben couldn’t stay silent any longer. 

“I’m stunned,” he said. 

Rey jumped a little at the sudden words. She blinked at his interruption a few times, then gave him a radiant smile. 

“He’s a quick learner,” she said as she rubbed Tie under his bridle. 

Ben narrowed his eyes at the horse. “Could have fooled me,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Twigs crunched beneath his boots as he approached the pair. Tie finally seemed to notice him and rumbled a low whicker in greeting. 

Rey looked Ben over with a raised brow. “I like your new trousers.” 

“Old ones had a bit of a hole in the thigh.” 

She cocked her head. “That’s not the fashionable style?” 

“Do I look like the type to keep up with styles?” 

“This is awful stylish,” she said as she flicked the brim of his new Stetson.  

Ben shrugged. “Keeps the sun off my face.” 

“Can’t risk getting another freckle. You’d be overrun.” 

He loved how her cheeks dimpled when she smiled, how the corners of her eyes creased, how everything in her seemed to sparkle in the bright sunshine. Although he hadn’t said that he loved her outright, it had been implied. But, of course, he’d seen the panic that flared in her face when he’d nearly spoken it, so he’d pulled himself back and kept the words as only an implication. Perhaps it should tear at him that she hadn’t yet said it back, and maybe it would riddle someone else with doubt and angst, but he knew her past and, more importantly, he knew  _ her. _ She would say it when—and if—she felt like saying it and not a moment sooner, and it would mean all the more because if she ever said it, she would  _ mean _ it. 

Rey pulled him from his musings with a nudge at his arm and gestured to the newsprint-wrapped bundle he held.

“What’s in the package, Marsh?” 

With all of the horse bowing, he’d forgotten about it. 

Ben swallowed. “It’s...it’s for you,” he said, and offered the lumpy parcel. 

“What?” Her voice tipped up in excitement. “Why?” She took it anyway and began to tug at the strings. 

_Because you deserve it._ _Because it’ll make you look presentable. Because I want to keep you out of a jail cell for as long as possible._

Despite the reasons flitting through his mind, Ben could only shrug.

The newsprint unfurled to reveal a new jacket and a matching pair of slacks—both pieces crisp and dark and swiftly tailored. 

Suddenly self-conscious of his own new hat, he blurted, “I was going to get you a hat too, but they didn’t have one that looked like it’d fit.” 

Her breath caught. “Ben…” The fabric was soft but sturdy and she rubbed it between her fingers. “This is too much. You shouldn’t have.”

Ben worked his jaw. “I wanted to. Your trousers never fit you right, and they’re filthy, and your jacket has so many holes that—”

“Shut up.” She aimed that radiant smile at him and it made his heart lurch against his ribs. “I was just saying what people say when they’re given a gift. I love it.” 

Ben grunted, though elation swelled within him. Across from the tailors, there had been a dress shop whose front window had boasted a pretty gown of flowered muslin. He’d entertained the thought for just a moment of getting her that instead. He’d never seen her in anything but trousers, but was that because she preferred it, or because she hadn’t the opportunity nor the time to find a dress of her own? When he’d pictured her swaddled in the yards of fabric, something in his stomach had twinged in discomfort, so he’d settled on the trousers and jacket. 

Rey clutched the new clothes to her chest and without another word, trotted into the forest to change. Maybe in the next town he’d find her a hat that actually fit. 

Tie nudged Ben’s elbow and he scratched the horse behind the ears, pulling a few burs from his thick mane. The hotel didn’t have any available rooms until tomorrow, but when they checked in, Ben was going to brush out every snarl and dirt clump until his black coat gleamed. 

As if he agreed with Ben’s thoughts, Tie tossed his head. Which gave Ben an idea. 

After taking a quick look to make sure Rey was out of sight, he faced the horse and, although it made him feel like an idiot, he bowed low. 

Tie snorted and flicked his tail. Ben cleared his throat as he’d seen Rey do, and still, those deep brown eyes stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. 

“Stubborn ass,” Ben muttered without venom, then ruffled the horse’s forelock. 

It had been several minutes and Rey still hadn’t returned.  Fading sunlight bathed the rustling grass and staggered through branches and canopies. The clouds overhead blazed in pink and gold, and they sat like whipped candy against a slowly bruising sky. 

He didn’t have to walk too far before he found her. The clothes fit well—or, at least, better than her old ones. She looked nice. Respectable. Pretty. Her head was down and she was rubbing one of the new jacket’s cuffs. When she looked up at his approach, a tear glistened on her cheek. She wiped it away with a hasty swipe of her forearm. 

“Rey…”

Ben kicked himself. Should he have spent the extra money on a better tailoring? On the calico dress? Should he not have bought any of it in the first place? Had he crossed some unspoken line by buying her clothing?

“What’s...is it...I’m…” Sentences rose up and died on his lips. “Did I do something wrong?” he finally managed to say. 

Rey sniffed and smiled at him. “No.”

“Then—” 

She took a step toward him. “No one’s ever done something so nice for me.” A shaky laugh, another wipe of her eyes. “I got a bit overwhelmed, is all.” 

She kissed him then, and he could taste the salt on her lips. 

That night, Ben woke with a start from a dream of dark landscapes and darker laughter. It took a long moment for him to place himself. When he opened his eyes, stars swarmed against the black sky in a thick cloud that cast the tree limbs and shivering leaves overhead in silhouette. The thin mountain air never seemed to hold onto the day’s warmth, and as Ben released his breath, it puffed out in a fine mist. Rey had suggested they share a bedroll, since it would help them stay warm. He rolled to his side and nestled his chest against her heated back. She was full of wonderful ideas. 

The dream still hovered in his mind though, and sleep seemed as far away as the stars. He lay a palm on Rey’s hip. His thumb made lazy circles on her skin, and he realized that she’d forgone her new pants. Their shared heat had made the bedroll awful toasty; she must have wriggled out of them sometime in the night. Was she only wearing her shirt, then? 

His touch must have strengthened, for she stirred underneath it and let out a little groggy grunt. 

Another long swipe of his thumb on her hip, soothing, calming. He would never grow tired of how soft her skin was, how much it made him ache. She nestled closer to him. 

“You up, Marsh?” she said in a low, husky voice and wriggled her bare ass against him.

Ben cleared his throat. “Yes.” Oh, he was definitely up now, and getting more ‘up’ with every passing second. 

“Oh good,” she said, then reached around and closed her fingers around his cock. If the bedroll combusted, Ben wouldn’t be surprised one whit. He gasped into her hair and clutched her hip more tightly as she stroked him until he hardened completely. With the slightest shift, she aligned him at her entrance—fuck,  _ fuck,  _ she was so slippery already—and when she let out a little ‘hmmm’ of satisfaction, he pushed inside.  

Lord, he loved the way his body fit within hers. He loved her sounds: breathless and trembling with his first slow thrusts; sweet, rhythmic moans as his pace quickened; tense cries when he pushed hard and deep. 

He rolled them over so he was pressing her warm body into the bedroll, his legs between hers, his hips pressing into the soft curves of her ass, his harsh grunts tangling in her hair. Their left hands intertwined while Ben’s right snaked down and rubbed her clitoris with quick motions as he glided into her tight cunt. It didn’t take very much at all for her to reach her peak, and then she was coming with a high panting whine, trembling around him and under him and keening his name to the trees. 

Ben shifted to his elbows so he could buck into her harder, faster. The bedroll bunched around his feet and grass clumps pressed into his forearms but still he moved, urged onward by the sinuous curl of climax as it burned low and wanting in his belly. His grunts broke from his chest with every pistoning thrust and seemed to hang for a brief moment in the chill air. Rey’s sharp moans burst from her as if he was driving them out of her body. She was unbearably hot, and breathtakingly wet. Lord, the bedroll was damp underneath them from her arousal. The very feel of it spurred his orgasm onward with a swiftness that scorched his skin. 

He panted words against her neck, into her hair. “I’m going to…did you want me to—”  

Her hand linked around his and squeezed. “I want it, Marsh. Give it to me.” 

_ Hell. _

His entire body shuddered as he spilled into her, his hips thrusting in involuntary jerks that drove her further into the bedroll.

They lay together like that for several long minutes, until Rey shifted underneath him and muttered something about ‘air.’ 

Ben coughed a laugh into her sweat-slicked neck and shifted so they once more lay on their sides. He made no moves to withdraw from her cunt, though. He didn’t want to. Not yet.

“What?” he said in response to Rey’s sudden giggle. 

“I was just thinking, it’s good we’re getting a hotel tomorrow.” 

“Oh?”

“Gonna have to wash this bedroll.” 

It was easy to fall asleep then: warm and replete with Rey tucked in his arms, lying together under the endless sky. 

 

Now in the saloon, Ben took a long swallow of his beer. The pianist was still playing ‘Oh Susannah.’ Would this round be the fifteenth? Or the eightieth? In any case, the song had gotten stale shortly after the third repeat. 

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.  

A woman several tables away straightened with her hands on her hips. Garbed in a cinched corset and flouncy bits of silk and lace, she had been bent over in a pose which seemed designed to present her plumped and rouged breasts to an enthusiastic patron.

“Hector!” she shouted at the pianist. “You best change that tune afore I break your fingers!”

Hector jumped and plonked a jarring chord on the keys, then shifted and began a perky, syncopated version of some popular <a href=" [ https://youtu.be/gNi2oxH37vo?t=24 ](https://youtu.be/gNi2oxH37vo?t=24) "> song. </a> The drunken man at his side gave the painted woman a sour look and slid down the wall until he lay slumped on the floor. No one helped him up.  

Ben took another sip of beer and turned his attention to one of the poker tables. In her new clothes, Rey hardly looked out of place. 

Or, well, she did look out of place, seeing as she was surrounded by five grungy, bearded men and had an expression of exaggerated confusion plastered on her face. 

If Ben listened closely, he could hear their conversation over the saloon’s low din and the sharp plonk of the piano. 

“...this’ll be which one, exactly?” Rey batted her eyelashes at the player to her right, a broad man with a huge brown beard. 

The man gave a loud, slurring chuckle. “That, little lady, is a spade.”

“Oh!” 

Ben frowned at her giggle. 

“So then, which one’s the club?”

Another man reached over to show Rey a card. She took the card with a coquettish smile, and the second man grinned. Another man with a tall hat and twin black braids rolled his eyes.

The first man, obviously jealous, showed Rey another card. “And this one’s a heart,” he said. “But I bet you know all ‘bout those.” 

Rey pursed her lips coyly. “I know I’ll probably be breaking yours.” 

The table erupted into laughter. 

Ben narrowed his eyes at the lot of them. If Rey had never played poker before, he would cut up his hat and eat it for lunch. 

He drained his beer and gestured for another. The alcohol was starting to dull his brain, and when he thought about this morning, it didn’t hurt quite as much. 

Good.

 

They’d made their way into town today with the sun high and the dew already evaporated. Right as he’d walked past the hotel clerk, intending to settle his effects in their room, the young man had halted him with a hasty, stuttered shout: there was a message for him from the sheriff’s office. 

What message had Snoke sent? How soon could Ben reply with his information? He’d left Rey to lounge in their room, and after nearly running through the street, arrived at the office breathless and dusty. 

It wasn’t the sheriff that sat at the desk, however: it was Snoke himself. The sheriff hovered nearby like a bee at a picnic. 

Ben’s thoughts derailed faster than a locomotive in winter. How had Snoke gotten here so fast? And why?

Ben whisked the hat from his head and scrubbed a hasty hand through his hair in an attempt to bring some order to it. “Did you—” 

Snoke interrupted him with a cold stare. Faded blue eyes sat unevenly on his face, one a little higher than the other. It had startled Ben at their first meeting and he’d learned to pick an eye and look at that one, instead of dodging from one to the other while trying to figure out which one was in the correct position. In the dingy light, Snoke’s wrinkles gave his skin the look of heavily used parchment. Not at the top of his head though; there, his taut scalp mounded above thinning wisps of white hair and shone with perspiration. 

“I’m curious to hear your excuses,” Snoke said.

Ben shifted, unsure. “Not sure I follow, sir.” 

Snoke leaned back in the creaking chair and swung his dirt-crusted boots onto the desk. The spinning rowls on his spurs dug into the soft wood and the sheriff wrinkled his nose. Ben was certain Snoke would never concern himself with the resulting damage. 

“Leave us be,” Snoke said to the sheriff, and the man visibly relaxed and shuffled out of the door. 

Snoke’s lower lip bulged with dip. One finger picked at a scab on his chin. 

“They found your badge,” he said at last. 

At the memory of how he’d lost it, Ben’s fists clenched and his stomach twisted. 

“It was in the dirt,” Snoke continued, “in the middle of what looked to be a massacre.” He sucked his teeth then expelled a stream of dip into the sheriff’s half-full coffee mug. “I thought you were dead until you were kind enough to send a telegram.” 

“I…” Ben chewed on his cheek. “I got in over my head.” 

Snoke choked out a caustic laugh. “No shit.” He lowered his boots to the ground and leaned forward in the chair, placing his elbows on the newly-scuffed desk and giving Ben a set of uneven, raised brows. “You were supposed to be tracking the Rebel gang. A little, manageable group of plain ol’ robbers. Wanna explain what the fuck you were doin’ that ended with burn marks in dirt and mangled body parts?” 

Ben sucked in a steadying breath. Maybe Snoke would be pleased. Proud, even. Maybe there would be a promotion for the information he was going to share.

“I had an opportunity—or, well, I was presented with an opportunity to join a group. A small group. Travelers,” he added at Snoke’s look of suspicion. He hadn’t quite found the words to justify joining himself to the Rebels yet. “We came across the Devil’s Hand. Something happened. A fight in a saloon. A member of my new party got on their bad side.” Snoke’s eyes were narrowing further with every sentence and Ben hurried on. “And there was a fight, and an explosion, but”—he grew more animated, unable to hold back his excitement—“I found out that the Hands have a  _ leader, _ someone they report to. This could change everything. If we found out who—” 

Snoke’s palm struck the desk with a sound like a gunshot and Ben couldn’t help but flinch. 

Those uneven eyes were no longer icy; where before they had been cold and distant, now they flashed with rage. A vein bulged on Snoke’s gleaming forehead. His upper lip curled in a snarl and it took all of Ben’s nerve not to step away.  

“I gave you instruction.” The words were as tight as a gallows knot. “What was it again? Don’t you dare—” 

“—fucking go after them yourself.” Ben finished the sentence along with his boss in a hushed tone, like he was a child being reprimanded for dipping someone’s braid in ink. He worked his jaw. Irritation wriggled within him.

“But  _ I _ didn’t pursue  _ them,” _ Ben said. “And I wasn’t alone.”

Snoke surged to his feet. “Goddamn you, Solo!” he bellowed. The vein in his forehead pulsed like a living thing. Some of his dip sprayed from his mouth and several droplets shone on the desk. “If you think I’m going to ignore this because of wordy runarounds…” His narrow chest heaved with quick, rasping breaths; his face gleamed as red as a ripe apple.

“I’m not—” 

Coffee flew through the air as Snoke hurled the mug at the ground. “You disobeyed my direct orders!” 

Ben opened his mouth to say that no, actually, he didn’t, for the exact reasons he’d just stated, but thought better of it. There were still more things on the desk that Snoke could throw. His rebuttal tasted bitter as he swallowed it down. 

The old man passed a wrinkled hand over his shining scalp, then yanked an old kerchief from his vest and dabbed at his forehead. He gave a long sigh. It whistled through his nose on the way out. The flush began to fade.

“If you hadn’t lost it, I would ask for your badge.” Snoke’s voice was lower now, and as flat as a stream in December.

“What?” It felt as if claws were sinking into Ben’s neck right at the base of his skull.

“You disobeyed me, which means you disobeyed the law, which, upon last reckoning, means you can’t be a lawman.”  

The claws sunk in deeper. 

Snoke settled back into the chair with an air of disaffection. “I hear there’s a railroad coming up from Durango. Bet they need more hands to lay track.” He jerked his head at Ben. “But you might want to do something about that scraggly mess on your face first.” 

There hadn’t been time to shave of late, and Ben’s stubble was turning into a short beard. He almost reached up to touch the offending hair on instinct and forced his hand still.  

Snoke shuffled the stack of papers in front of him and gestured to the door. “You can go,” he said, as if dismissing a servant.

Anger reared up inside Ben, powerful and overwhelming. His fists shook with the force of it. His voice quavered as words exploded from him. “This isn’t right! It isn’t... none of it. You can’t—You can’t just—I’ve brought in more outlaws and gangs than anyone in the—” 

Snoke was back on his feet in an instant, his face flaming again. 

“OUT!” He flung an arm towards the door so fiercely that it ripped one of the buttons on his vest, revealing a crisp shirt and an odd, circular badge pinned to the vest’s inner liner: a six-spoked wheel within a red circle. The sight tickled the back of Ben’s brain. He’d seen that before; he didn’t know where though, and wasn’t in the mood to delve into his memories at the moment. 

So he’d spun around and left the sheriff’s office without bothering to close the door behind him. Snoke could close his own damn door. On his way out, he passed the sheriff; he’d been leaning against the outer wooden wall and picking his teeth with a match. 

The sheriff made as if to ask Ben a question, then, seemingly noticing whatever expression had plastered itself on Ben’s face, he cleared his throat and scuttled into his building.

Ben had gone straight to the saloon. He wasn’t sure when Rey had arrived; after the first glass of whiskey he’d turned around to see her at the poker table, then swiveled back to his glass. 

At least the morning was over. Snoke was in town—for whatever fucking reason—and Ben had been officially fired, and all the shit that could have stunk up his day was already deep in his metaphorical boot treads. He drained his beer. The bartender came as if called by the sound of the empty glass thudding on the counter. 

“You want another?”

Ben braced his forehead against his palm and closed his eyes. “No.” Not wallowing in anger, guilt, and self-loathing was ideal; any more alcohol, and he would pass into ‘unable to think’ and then would just result in a hangover and probably his gun getting stolen. Or his hat. That would be the cherry on top of today’s shit pile. 

With a frown, Ben mused on that particular phrase and wondered if he had indeed passed into the ‘unable to think’ level of inebriation. 

Someone slid onto the stool beside him. Ben braced himself for the oncoming jibes or the soft push of a hand that sought his billfold.

“Rough morning? Wanna talk about it?”

His shoulders slumped even as his heart warmed at the sound of her voice. In response, he grunted. 

“Oh,” Rey said knowingly. “That bad?” 

Ben grunted again. 

He opened his eyes at the brisk slap of a billfold on the counter. 

Rey met his incredulous look with a smile like that of a cat who’d just found a nest of baby swallows. “Whiskey,” she told the bartender, then pulled a bill of a rather large denomination out of the folded leather. “Two of ‘em. And make it the good stuff, now.”

Ben frowned at the billfold. “Where’d you get that?”

“Whatever do you mean, Benjamin?” She blinked at him, her lips in a coy twist. “I’ve always had this.” 

Before she could yank it away, Ben swiped it from her and made a show of looking at it closely. “Really? Didn’t think crude depictions of naked women were your preferred methods of decoration.” 

The bartender set their whiskey glasses on the counter as Rey tried to grab the billfold back. 

“Maybe it called to me,” she said between gritted teeth. 

Ben held the billfold out of her reach. “Really?” He scoffed. “I know a lot of things call to you, but not sure how a picture of a woman with tits the size of watermelons and a vagina at her belly button would do as such.”

Rey was nearly in his lap, trying to reach the billfold behind his back. “I’m...aroused by...genital inaccuracies,” she said around frustrated grunts. 

“Of course!” Ben slapped his free hand against his head. “Why didn’t I see it before? That explains so—”

A man’s shout interrupted him, followed shortly by the screech of chair legs against old wooden floors. 

The man with the large brown beard Ben had seen at the poker table with Rey earlier had staggered to his feet and was casting around the saloon with wild eyes. 

“Where in the hell is my billfold?” he shouted. 

Ben leveled an accusatory stare at Rey. 

“What?” she hissed. “He wasn’t even keeping a good eye on it. Was practically asking for it to get taken.” She feinted to one side and used Ben’s overreaction to dive in and grab the wallet. 

Ben worked his jaw. Rey didn’t even flinch under his glare. 

“Give it back to him,” he said. 

“What am I gonna do, just...hand it over?”

“Sure.”

The man was stomping around the saloon in wobbling circles. His blustery words slurred together. “Who’s got it? Huh? Givvit, I pr’mise I won’t break yer fingers too hard.” 

“See?” Ben muttered to Rey. “He’ll even go easy on you.” 

As the man passed one table, several people offered up laughing jibes. 

“Another pretty face swipe somethin’ from you, Bill?” one woman said with a sharp grin. 

The man waved her away, then seemed to think on what she’d said. 

Although he knew what would happen, Ben still cringed when Bill spun around, located Rey, and barreled in her direction. 

Ben faced Rey. “If you drop it, right now, you can pretend that—”

“No!” she said in a squeal. “Do you know how much this can—”

“Hey!” the man bellowed. “Girl!” 

Before she turned to face him, Rey’s expression changed from one of twitching irritation to one of eyelash-fluttering innocence.

But the look had no effect on Bill. 

Instead of paying attention to Rey, he glanced past her at Ben and his attention snagged. One thick finger raised and aimed at Ben’s chest. 

_ Hell, what  _ now _? _

“You!” Bill said. He blinked and his eyelids didn’t close in sync. 

Ben straightened on his stool and faced the man. “If you think I’m the pretty face that stole your billfold, I’m flattered.” 

Bill’s face twisted in inebriated fury. “You!” he said again. 

Ben picked up his glass. This whiskey went down a lot easier than the first two. He’d have to thank Rey later. 

Ben wiped his mouth and sniffed. “Got something to say,  _ Bill?” _

Bill’s legs lost their wobble and he rose to his full height. “You got me locked up for five years, you...you shit-brained bottom-feeder!”

Jesus, this was exactly what Ben needed right now: getting insulted by a drunken oaf that he’d happened to arrest half a decade ago. The world exhausted him. Idiotic, drunken conversations enraged him. Whatever veneer of politeness and social propriety lay over his sour attitude rapidly chipped away.

Ben gave the man a lengthy once-over. “Must not have been too hard on you.” 

“Five years!” Bill held up the fingers as demonstration, not even processing Ben’s insult. “Five!” 

“Well, that’s a pity.” 

Above his bushy beard, Bill’s beady eyes blinked rapidly and he huffed. “Didn’t think you for a ‘pologizing man.” 

“I’m not. It’s a pity it was only five years.” 

Ben dodged the first punch, but not the second, and it hit him squarely in the jaw. Pain screamed through his face. He reveled in it. 

He barely heard Rey’s yelp as he drove his fist into Bill’s fucking bushy beard. There were shouts of alarm, cries of excitement, the harsh scrape of chairs against the floor mingling with rowdy hollering. 

It had been a good hit; Bill stumbled backwards, his arms windmilling, and knocked into a table filled with scruffy-looking patrons. A pint of whiskey tipped over and glugged onto the floor. 

As Bill staggered and sank to the floor on his knees, a trio of shocked stares landed on Ben from those who had owned the whiskey.

Well,  _ shit. _

The whiskey owners’ shock transformed into an indignation of such intensity that it would have caught a haystack on fire. In an instant, Ben found himself dodging three sets of fists. One of the men backed off only to clamber onto a table, his legs tensed as if to spring. Ben ducked under flailing punches and sent his own into someone’s belly. His blood sang, his pulse leaped in exhilaration. 

This…

This was  _ exactly _ what Ben needed right now. No sarcasm at all this time.  

There was no time to wallow in failure or crippling doubt—not when his arms burned and his face ached and his knuckles screamed with every crack against a jaw or soft thud into muscles. Not when he had to be highly aware of all around him and know when to duck and when to lunge. 

The man who had climbed onto the table leaped from it; Ben would have been reminded of a pouncing mountain lion if the man’s leap had been at all graceful. Still though, he braced himself for impact. 

It never came. 

Right at the peak of the man’s ungainly parabola, an airborne stool smacked into his side, and he shrieked (which, Ben had to be honest, was the most lion-y aspect of the whole thing) and tumbled to the floor. 

Who had— 

He didn’t have to finish wondering; Rey’s grin said it all. 

God, he could kiss her. He could sweep her into his arms, he could lift her off her feet, he could bend her over that bar counter— 

A chair cracked into his back and derailed any more inappropriate thoughts. Ben whirled, dodged a punch, and wrapped an arm around the offending gent’s thick neck. An impeccably waxed mustache poked into Ben’s forearm even through the fabric of his jacket. The man scrabbled at Ben’s arm, to no avail. 

A noise behind him made Ben turn, and a fist meant for his back instead hit the mustached man’s stomach. He let the man slump to the floor and flung an empty whiskey glass into a snarling face.

Shouts and grunts filled the saloon—a bottle shattered against a wall, chairs splintered, tables slammed onto the floor. 

The pianist was holding his hands over his ears and casting about as if looking for somewhere to hide. Ben heard a woman’s voice ring out over the din: “No one ain’t told you to stop playin’, Hector!” 

Hector jumped and began a hasty, fumbling version of ‘Oh Susannah.’ 

“Not that!” several people yelled in unison, and a hasty, fumbling version of ‘The Little Brown Jug’ stuttered out from the tinny piano instead.

There was pressure at Ben’s back; he spun, his arm cocked to throw a punch, but it was Rey. 

“Duck!” she shouted and as Ben dropped to the floor, she lashed out above him and struck someone’s ear. He could see a man preparing to wrap his thick, hairy arms around Rey’s waist from behind.

_ Like hell. _

Ben’s fist snapped through Rey’s legs and hit the man in the knee. He fell with a shrill yelp. 

“Behind you!” Rey said, but sunk down like he was, Ben couldn’t turn fast enough to see what he was supposed to dodge. 

As if he was a piece of gymnastics equipment, Rey used his shoulders to vault herself over his body and fly feet-first into a man who had been raising an empty bottle. The bottle crashed into the floor, as did the man. She would have joined them if Ben hadn’t caught her around the middle and hoisted her to her feet. 

“Thanks,” she said with a quick grin. 

“Could say the same to y—” A flying bottle forced him to duck and cut off his sentence.

It seemed far too natural, the way they worked together. Her back was to his now and they moved as if anticipating one another’s action. Duck, and punch, and uppercut, and dodge. He leaned forward and there she was, her back against his, and he felt the force as she kicked out, felt the very moment her boot struck a heavy torso. 

It was over far too soon. 

True, Ben’s face felt like it had been trampled, and every muscle ached, but that fiery pulse still sang in his limbs and called out for more,  _ more. _

No one seemed interested in engaging them, though.

Nervous looks, frowns at broken glass, dirty hands ruffled through greasy hair. 

Hector still played. The notes rang out clear in the low buzz of grumbled conversation. Several people settled their hats on their heads and burst through the swinging doors into the bright afternoon light. 

A growl, like that of a bear, came from behind Ben and he spun about. His raised fist stilled. His limbs locked and his heart lurched. 

The man had sounded like a bear, and he looked like one too: tall, burly, and gruff. His grizzled beard had more gray than the last time Ben had seen it, and small brown eyes looked at him in disbelief. 

_ Chewie? _

Ben opened his mouth to say it, to toss the name into the air as if he was no longer certain where it would land, but his breath blasted from him in a rush as Chewie’s mammoth fist impacted Ben’s diaphragm. His lungs seized and he fell the floor, which earned several approving shouts from patrons.

Chewie whipped his pistol from his belt, cocked it, and aimed it at Ben’s chest. 

“No!” Rey jumped so that she stood straddling Ben’s waist, her palms thrust out towards the enormous man. “Chewie, don’t!” 

The thought momentarily crossed Ben’s mind that he was losing count of how many times Rey had thrown herself in between him and a loaded gun. Enough. Too many. 

But, actually, hold on. 

Another thought, this one more confusing and chilling, elbowed the first out of the way. 

How did she know Chewie?

The man was staring at Rey with enough confliction to fill a lake. His eyes darted between Rey and Ben, and then he released the hammer and shoved his pistol into its holster. He looked none too happy about it, though.

Without turning from Chewie, Rey held out a hand and helped Ben to his feet. Once he stood, she didn’t let go, only laced her fingers with his. Was it for her own support, or his?

Then he saw the person standing behind Chewie. 

Although his breath was moseying back to him after the punch, it left him completely at the sight of her.

Her hair had more grey streaks, her face held more lines, her dark eyes had dulled with weariness. 

For a moment, Leia’s expression was as hopeful as the dawn. 

“Ben…?” She said it tenderly, almost as if she was looking at the little boy she’d raised. That look shocked Ben more than the surprise of seeing her in this shitty Silverton saloon. When was the last time she had looked at him like that? No frustration, no impatience, no exasperation. There was even a little worry as her gaze traced his scar.

Then a hardness fell across her face, smothering that tender expression like a blanket over coals.

Leia looked at their joined hands only briefly before she raised her pistol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I was good enough with technology to insert gifs of maniacal laughter into AO3. But I’m not. So you’ll just have to imagine them.   
> There are a lot. They’re all funny.   
> One has a dog.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always--you wonderful, spectacular readers, you--endless thanks for your patience with this.  
> If you've noticed, the chapter count has been updated and we are nearing the end of this rollicking western tale. I'm a bit sad, and a bit ecstatic, and a bit proud. 
> 
> If you want to listen to some sweet Western jams, head on over to the [ Wanted Youtube playlist ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLT4RuyR0WeEAAKAPU96s68w8yR9VTrIdt) I carefully crafted/smashed together over the course of the past few months. Basically, whenever I write Wanted, I listen to this playlist on repeat. So git on over there, y'all!
> 
> (A huge thanks to the lovely duo who read this over and took out SO MANY commas: LoveofEscapism and HarpiaHarpyja)

Leia’s gun was rising. The barrel passed over their intertwined hands, then their elbows, and up, and up. The older woman’s hand twitched and Rey saw the black barrel flick between her own chest and Ben’s, and it seemed to imply the question in Leia’s mind: Who first? 

Rey’s sweaty fingers slipped against Ben’s. He gave her the slightest tug as if to tuck her behind him, because  _ no, oh no, _ he was reaching for his revolver and so was Chewie and she was going to die right here, in this shitty saloon with a belly full of whiskey and a pocket of stolen cash while she held hands with the man she loved, which, really, was not the worst way to go, but she’d hoped— 

Wait, wait,  _ no, _ she hadn’t meant that ‘love’ part and— 

_ Shit _ .

Yeah, she had meant it. If they were about to die, she might as well fully admit to it. 

Someone’s pistol cocked, though she didn’t know who it belonged to.

Startled fear burned white-hot in her ears and it turned all of those thoughts to ash. Should she grab her own pistol and cock it? Where would she even aim? Leia’s shooting hand? Her leg? Her heart? 

Then a voice rang out over the tension. 

“No!” 

Rey flinched, as did Ben. 

It came again. “No!” 

The bartender leaped over the sticky counter, his mustache practically bristling with irritation, and jabbed his index finger at the four of them in turn. He wasn’t a very large man and his striped vest bagged a bit under his armpits. Dark hair parted down the middle of his head and lay slick against his skull under a fearsome amount of pomade. 

“No!” the bartender shouted a third time. “You...you all get... _ out!” _ Spittle flew from his thin lips. “This here is a nice establishment, and you will  _ not _ be bleeding all over it!” He aimed the finger at the walls behind the bar. “That’s just got replaced, and I’ll be damned if you get it shot up again!” His face had turned the shade of red Rey had before only seen on fruit. 

Seeming more startled than chastised, both Leia and Chewie were staring at the bartender. Their guns had lowered slightly, though, and so had Ben’s. Rey tried to feel grateful, but fear’s grip was still stronger. 

The bartender gave up on propriety and shoved the four of them towards the door as if they were no more than misbehaving children. 

Rey stumbled through the swinging doors and blinked in the bright sunlight. 

The bartender said shrilly, “Now go shoot each other in the street, like civilized people!” And with that, he stormed back into the dim saloon to the muffled sound of applause. 

Only a second of stunned silence passed before Leia, Ben, and Chewie all snapped their guns up. Rey still couldn’t bring herself to unholster her own pistol. Maybe that’s what would kill her; but she couldn’t do it, all the same.

“Lookiee, a shootout!” someone cried out of an open window.

Leia aimed her gun directly at Ben’s chest this time. Rey wanted to step between them, yet Chewie seemed to anticipate this and wrapped one mammoth hand around Rey’s upper arm. 

Leia whirled on her, brown eyes blazing. “You’re with him now?” she bit out. “After all I told you? After what he’s—” She broke off, lips pinched. 

The air felt thick around Rey’s tongue and every explanation died before it could emerge. 

“I...I’m sorry,” she managed. “Gen—” 

Leia’s eyes widened right as Rey realized what she’d said. Chewie let go of her arm like she’d burned him.

_ “What?” _ Ben’s voice was as low and grating as a rockslide. 

_ Fuck, no. Fuck.  _ If she looked at him now, she would surely shatter. 

“You’ve…she’s...” Ben sucked in a sharp breath. She could practically hear the realizations firing off in his mind. “She’s the General,” he said. The words were without emotion, flat and cold. “You’ve been robbing for her all this time. Your entire crew has.” 

There was a crescent-shaped clump of dirt by Chewie’s boot that looked like it had fallen right out of a hoof. 

“I was gonna tell you,” she said to the dirt clump. Even to her own ears, it sounded like a lie. 

Ben barked a dry laugh. “Really? When?” The last word cracked and she could imagine the way his jaw would be working: lips tight, holding back the pain of her betrayal. He didn’t give her time to answer. “Were you gonna tell me after your crew had me rob something for them? Or after they took all I owned? Or after—” His sentence wrenched to a stop and Rey completed it herself.

_ After we fucked.  _

_ After I offered to marry you.  _

_ After I offered to love you. _

Misery burned like acid in Rey’s lungs.

Leia gasped in outrage at what Ben had said. “You mean he...you let him  _ join the Rebels? _ How—Goddammit girl,  _ look at me.”  _

Rey’s gaze flicked to the older woman and she had to fight the urge to cower under the force of Leia’s anger. 

“They were gonna shoot him,” Rey said through gritted teeth. Still defending him, even now. 

Leia’s lips twisted into a snarl. “You should have let them do it.” 

And  _ God, _ the way she looked at Ben then was unlike any hatred Rey had ever seen; mingled with the disgust was a grief so powerful that it struck Rey’s chest like a lead slug. 

“It would be fair,” Leia continued, staring at her son. “Poetic, even.” 

Rey glanced to Ben, and sure enough, there went his jaw, working a mile a minute. In the bright afternoon light, she could see the beginnings of an ugly bruise on his chin. His lip was split, too. 

“I was never much fond of poetry,” Ben growled. His large fingers flexed on his pistol, and Rey swore she saw it tremble as he aimed the barrel at Leia. 

“Oh,” Leia said, “I remember.” She sucked her teeth. “Maybe you’d like it more if you were part of it. Killed your father in cold blood only to be killed in cold blood yourself.”  

Ben’s gun jerked and his thumb hovered over the hammer. “That’s what you’re calling it? ‘Cold blood’?” He scoffed. “Weren’t nothing ‘cold’ about any of it.” 

There was a twang in his words now: an old dialect that bubbled through the widening cracks in his composure. A drop of blood beaded on his split lip and gleamed as bright as a ruby. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

Leia’s grief surged across her face and something within her seemed to break. “How could you, Ben?” The words burst out unsteady and thick. “Your  _ father, _ and you put him down like a Goddamned animal.” 

“An animal that was a danger to others!” Ben shouted. The twang was gone in an instant, replaced by the forced rationale that had always seemed to appear when he spoke of that day. Rey could imagine him speaking it to himself over and over through the years, memorizing the reasoning. 

“He—” Leia started.

“He had people up against a wall!” Ben finished for her. “He was raising his rifle, about to plaster their brains on the wallpaper.” 

Leia opened her mouth to shout back at him and then paused, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What?”

“He was going to kill them!” Ben gave his mother a look of disbelief. “Do you think I wanted to do it? Is that what you’ve thought all these years? Is that what you’ve been telling” —his eyes flicked to Rey and then away as if he couldn’t bear to let his gaze linger on her— “everyone?” His lip curled in derision. “I’m not that much of a monster, whatever you may think.”   

Leia shook her head, confusion still tugging at her brows and her mouth. “No, it…” She lowered her pistol and rubbed at her forehead with her free hand. “Han wasn’t raising his gun, Ben; he was lowering it.” 

Ben scoffed, but his mother went on.

“He saw that you were standing out there with the other marshals and he didn’t want you to have to make that choice. He was raising his hands over his head. Surrendering.” 

Ben stared at her. “No,” he said slowly. “He was aiming at the hostages.” 

Leia’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Who told you that?”

Ben started. “What?” 

“I remember that day very well. I’m sure you do too. It was happening ‘round sunset. The bank had big front windows, and the light was shining right in our faces. Which meant the glare for you must have been something awful.” Her brows creased and she tipped her head. “So then how could you see what was happening inside?” 

Ben shifted. His pistol aimed at the dirt, and he had the expression of someone getting pulled underwater. “I...I was told. He said that I needed to shoot. That I needed to...” 

Leia’s jaw worked in a softer version of her son’s. When she spoke, it was short and bitter. “Who told you?” 

Rey watched the realization crash over Ben like a flash flood. He stared at the buildings behind his mother’s shoulder and his mouth opened and closed around empty words. His gun hung from limp fingers.

“Snoke.”

It was a whisper from his lips, a curse, a hiss. 

Rey’s stomach clenched. There was quite a bit that Ben hadn’t told her about his boss—there hadn’t been much time to do so, in any case—but she knew enough. She could see it in the tightness of his shoulders and the scowl on his face when he’d returned from meeting the man. 

Rey had been the cause of her family’s death, but at least no one had manipulated her into doing so. What must Ben be feeling now? The only justification for that awful deed was gone, puffed into extinction in the mountain air, and now he was just left with what he'd done. 

The quiet in Ben’s body snapped like a log in a bonfire. He took a few steps down the street before his body bent forward like the snap of a jackknife, and he bellowed into the empty street: a yell of such agony and despair that it rattled the windows and spooked horses and made Rey’s skin crawl. It echoed into the surrounding mountains before fading into the distance. 

Leia stepped towards her son slowly, as if fearful that he would spook. 

Rey made to move forward as well and felt a solid hand grip her arm. She glanced at Chewie, who shook his head. 

“Let ‘em hash it out, girlie,” he muttered. “We ain’t part of this right now.” His black eyes were trained ahead and his greying beard shifted in the breeze. He’d holstered his gun, Rey saw. 

She swallowed. “I’m real sorry, Chewie.”

“Hmnh. Maybe you should save that ‘pology for when you know what you’re ‘pologizing for.” He glanced down at her. “Don’t say it just to make yourself feel better.” 

Rey bit her lip and looked at the ground, chastened. For all his stoic grunting, he had a point. What, exactly, was she sorry about? Saving a man’s life? Going against orders in order to save that man’s life? And was she sorry for withholding the truth, or sorry for getting caught at it?

Leia had reached Ben. He was bracing himself on bent knees, doubled over as if he was about cast off the whiskey. When he didn’t move, she lay a hand on his heaving back. He flinched under her touch. 

“Ben,” Leia said softly. “I don’t know if it’ll mean much, but I do forgive you for...for it.” 

Ben looked over his shoulder briefly. When he straightened, he didn’t so much rise as he uncoiled. Rey saw his shoulders lift in a heavy breath. 

“I can’t forgive you for what you do,” he said. “You should know that.” 

“Yeah, I’d assumed as much. You gonna turn us in?” Although Rey couldn’t see Leia, there was a bit of a smile in her voice. 

“No,” Ben said after a moment. He turned at last to face his mother. His limbs seemed stiff, as if he no longer knew how to hold himself. “I…” His attention floated to the sheriff’s office and one eye twitched. “Not now, at least.” 

“Well thank goodness for that,” Leia said with a snort. She lifted a hand and pressed it to Ben’s cheek, turning him to face her. “I missed you, kid.” Although she was trying for lightness, strain plucked at her words.

Rey ducked her head and shuffled her feet, suddenly uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to do with this unabashed familial adoration. It scratched at her lungs like soot. 

A shout rang out behind her, and she swiveled to see Poe and Finn running down the main road, pistols out and expressions livid. 

“The hell is he doing here with—General! Get down!” 

Leia turned and glowered at Poe’s gun. “You’d best put that piece away, Mr. Dameron, else I get mad.”

Poe staggered to a halt as little half-formed sentences stuttered out of him. Sweat shone on Finn’s forehead and he stood beside Poe, panting and glancing between Rey, Leia, and Ben before trotting over to Rey and grabbing her hand. 

Leia was saying something to Poe, but Rey couldn’t hear it. Ben said something back. She couldn’t hear that either, and didn’t want to guess.

“You okay?” Finn said. 

Rey nodded. If she spoke, she was likely to cry, and she didn’t want to cry. 

Finn squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry we treated you like that.” He said it quickly, as if he worried that she would cut him off before he could finish. “We all felt so bad afterwards, because he did help us, really, and I know you weren’t trying to hurt us and—”

So much for not crying. A gasping sob tore out of her chest and she lunged at Finn, wrapping him in a hug before he could finish. 

She heard Poe say, “Well, I still don’t like it.”

“Never said you had to like it,” Leia replied. “Besides. It’s not like he’s galloping into the sunset with us. I just don’t want you to shoot him at this moment.” 

“So I could shoot him in the future?” 

“Sure, if you want me to shoot  _ you.” _

Rey pulled away from Finn, even though she would gladly hug him for days.

“When did you all get into town?” she asked. 

“This morning. General’d been here a day or so already.” He squeezed her elbow. “Think we must have been following your trail all the way up here. Kept seeing traces of camps everywhere, and one of them must have been yours.” 

Rey nodded. “Must have.” 

Finn sent a short, suspicious look at Ben. “He treating you well?” 

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, of course.” 

His thumb flicked at the lapel of her jacket. “When’d you buy this?”

Rey glanced down at the tangible proof of what had once been Ben’s adoration. Her stomach twinged. 

“Yesterday,” she said. “And I didn’t buy it.” 

“Atta girl.” Finn nodded, pleased. “Don’t you pay for nothing you don’t have to.”

“No, I mean, Ben bought it for me.” Her stomach twinged a second time. 

“Huh.” Finn looked over at the man with an expression that cautiously bordered on respect. 

Rey didn’t want to continue down that road, wherever it led. “How was your journey? For the rest of you?” 

Finn nibbled his lip. He wanted to tell her something, but embarrassment seemed to be stilling his tongue.

“What?” she pressed. 

“Well...there...a...um,” he stammered, his face flushing. “You see, me and…” Finn glanced over at Poe, in the midst of an argument, and swallowed. “A few nights ago, we…”

“Goddamn!” Poe’s loud curse broke through their conversation. He gestured wildly at Ben with one arm. “How am I supposed to not shoot him when he says shit like  _ that?” _

Rey turned back to Finn. What exactly had happened between him and Poe? And why was Finn so flummoxed about it?

She didn’t have time to ask.

Running steps made them all turn at once. 

Rose’s boots puffed dust into the air with the force of her stop. She pointed at Ben and said shrilly, “Why’s nobody shot that one yet?” 

Chewie rolled his eyes and let out a loud, grumbling declaration of frustration. “Boy killed his pa who’d long been robbin’ with me and General. Got made into a marshal ‘cause of it, which caused some friction with his ma, but turns out his boss told him the wrong thing so he’d just done what he thought was right. Now Marshal boy and his ma sort-a made up and we’re all gonna live happy and not worry about any of it.” He pinned Rose with a look that dared her to contradict him. 

She lifted her hands as if he was aiming a pistol at her. “Sure thing, Chewie, sounds right.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she sent a worried glance around the street. “Shouldn’t we not...do this  _ here?” _

Leia snorted. “Where else are we gonna do this?” 

Still glowering at Ben, Poe made his way over to Rey. When he reached her, his glower fell away and he pulled her into a hug. “Oh, Vic, I was real mean,” he said into her ear. 

“Well, I was real dumb,” Rey said into his. 

Poe’s chuckle tickled her cheek and Rey hugged him tighter.

“Nah,” he murmured. “Falling for a set of nice brown eyes doesn’t make you dumb. Happens to the best of us.” 

Rey frowned against Poe’s shoulder as Finn’s words came back to her. It made a certain sort of sense, since she’d noticed more than one lingering glance directed to the other. 

“How long has this been—” 

Rose’s frustrated grunt interrupted Rey’s whisper, and she looked up to see the other woman tugging at Chewie’s sleeve. 

“We don’t...we shouldn’t stay out here,” Rose said to Leia. “We told you about the run-in with the Devil’s Hand? And how they don’t like us much at all?”

Leia gave a brisk nod. She’d been told about Amilyn, then. How had that conversation gone? Rey didn’t want to think too deeply on it, since the wound was still awful fresh.

Rose continued, “Apparently some of them like to frequent the whorehouse here.”

Poe pulled out of the hug and laughed at Rose. “So? I hear there ain’t too many quality establishments north of the Rio Puerco, so they gotta find what they can.” 

Rose bared her teeth at him. “And if you would  _ let me finish, _ someone mentioned that they got into town today.” 

Panic flared in Rey’s chest and burned a searing trail to her fingertips. Memories pummeled at her like fists: greasy fingers, callous smiles, chiding laughter, gleaming knives. The urge struck her to run as fast as she could down the main road until compacted dirt turned to forest loam, and then keep running far beyond that. 

Rose reached out and tugged at Finn’s sleeve, then Poe’s, like they were truculent goats to be herded. “So maybe we get out of the street, and—oh hi Rey, we missed you—and  _ get somewhere not here.” _

“Wait.” 

The way that Ben said it, as sudden as a gunshot, made everyone turn to him. He was staring at the dirt. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “There used to be a...a gang. Dropped off the papers and the maps years ago. They all wore pins here” —he made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and held it to his side— “like a wagon wheel, or a shield.” 

Poe shook his head. “Not sure what you’re talkin’ about, there.” 

Leia was frowning. “A six-spoked wheel? Black and red?” 

“Yeah.” Ben almost whispered it. “What—” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “What was their name?” 

“Why’s it important?” Poe said, rubbing the back of his neck, then saw the dirt the action had transferred to his palm and scowled. 

Ben worked his closed mouth. “Just...I want to know.”

Leia narrowed her eyes at the sky. “The...um…” She nudged Chewie with her elbow. “C’mon, help me out here.” 

Chewie grunted. “The Prayer Guard.” 

Leia shook her head. “No, no…” She narrowed her eyes further, as if the name was written in the clouds and she had to squint to see it. “The Prattering Guard?” 

Amongst those awful memories of the Devil’s Hand came one of a scrawny man laughing a name over Ben’s supine, struggling body. 

“The Praetorian Guard,” Ben said, before Rey could suggest it. 

Leia nodded. “That would be it, then. Not a great name,” she said with a delicately wrinkled nose. “Too hard to pronounce.” 

Rose looked around the street again. “Great, good, now we know. Maybe we can talk about it more inside, before we get the  _ hell _ out of this town.” And with that, she jogged away. 

Poe shrugged, gave Rey a last hug, and followed Rose. He aimed a finger at Rey. “You come and find us when you’re ready to leave.” 

Relief bloomed within Rey that after all she’d done, her friends still wanted her to join them. Yet she couldn’t help but chafe a little at the insinuation that she was just a parcel to be handed around, not trusted to make her own way. She knew that she could—she was no longer a knock-kneed teenager with more freckles than common sense—but would she even want to? 

When she glanced at him, she saw that Ben had paled considerably. He dragged his feet through the dirt and sunk onto the front steps of a general store. He must have realized some awful truth, and Rey wondered if he would ever tell her.

She fiddled with the smooth button on her new jacket. Her mouth felt drier than the dust under her boots. “Weren’t...um, weren’t you gonna get your brother?” she said to Leia, as if the very thought of one more gun hand would make her feel safer. The windows all seemed to hold prying eyes; the shadows lurked like demons. 

“He has a little cabin of his own,” Leia said. “Keeps to it. Wanted to keep on keeping to it.” Her lips quirked in a wry smile—amusement at the antics of a sibling. 

Must have been nice to have a family like that, even if it was the lawbreaking sort. People to come home to; people who knew things, both awful and giddy about your early life; people who had an obligation to care.

How old would Prudy be now if she hadn’t frozen to death?  

Rey shook that thought away. There was enough to occupy her mind without regret for the distant past.

Ben was still slumped on the steps. Every line of his body seemed to cry out in defeat. 

She went to him and he hardly noticed she approached until she said, “You okay, Marsh?” 

He looked up at her in that way she’d grown to love so much—hope, and trust, and a softness that warmed her insides—but then it curled into something else altogether; something sharper, meaner.  _ Colder _ . 

He stood, and a certain resoluteness settled over him. She’d withheld certain important facts from him, and no matter the tortuous paths his mind traveled on, he wasn’t going to forget that particular anytime soon.

Rey became suddenly aware of how massive the man was and how good he was at looming over her. She swallowed. 

“Think we need to have a talk,” he said. 

Rey flung a glance back like she was tossing a rope, hoping someone would catch it and pull her to safety. 

Leia only nodded. “Think you ought to.” She caught Chewie by the elbow, but before they made their way down the street, Finn following behind, she paused. “See you...see you soon?” 

It sounded awful hopeful, Rey thought. Either Leia was getting worse at hiding her emotions, or Rey was getting better at finding them. 

Ben gave a brisk nod. “I’ll make a point of it.” 

Not ‘we.’ Rey didn’t want to think too much on that implication. She lifted a hand in farewell to Finn.

Ben didn’t leave her behind, at least; though he didn’t talk to her as they returned to the hotel. 

The door to their room closed with a soft click. It was a much smaller room than the one they’d had back in New Mexico: no tub, no sink, barely enough space for the saddles by the door and definitely not enough space for the water-stained, waist-high dresser that sat against one wall.

Rey could feel Ben’s agitation in the silence as a tangible thing that lurked in the room with them. 

Rey spoke first. 

“I’m glad you—the two of you made good.” She undid her gunbelt and looped it over a hook on the wall. Maybe he would relax more if she were weaponless.

Ben was holding onto the coat rack that stood by the door, staring at the cracks in the wooden floor. 

“Or, maybe not  _ good,” _ Rey continued, “but better. Better than it was.” 

Ben still said nothing.

Rey bit her lip. Unease fluttered high and frantic in her chest. “It’s...forgiveness is a tough thing, I think. And I know that you might—” She broke off when his eyes snapped up and pinned her. 

“Why did you decide that I didn’t need to know?” His voice was as tight as his hold on the coat rack: any tighter and she expected the tarnished brass to crumple in his hand. 

She wrapped her arms around herself and clutched the new, soft fabric in her fingers. 

Ben noticed and gave a bitter scoff. 

“You wanted to keep me around a bit longer so I would keep buying you nice things?”

“No!” How in hell could he think  _ that? _ “The fuck kind of person you think I am?” 

“It seems I don’t actually know you at all,” he snapped. He shoved the coat rack and it bounced a few times against the wall before stabilizing. “Was I a joke to you all this time? A mark?” 

“Dammit Ben, no!” There was a bitter taste at the back of her throat, rusty and sharp, and she realized that she’d bitten her cheek hard enough to draw blood. “You never were.” 

His face twisted as if some part of him wanted to believe her and he was forcing that part into submission. 

“Then why?” He took a step in her direction. His expression settled into one of forced apathy, the same kind of mask she’d first seen on the other side of a jail cell, and pain ricocheted through her body now that she was seeing it again after all they’d done together. “Did you think that I would never find out that you were connected to me, to my family in that way?”

“I didn’t think of that!” Rey cried out. 

He dragged a hand through his hair like he wanted to tear it from his scalp. 

“I don’t…think.” She was blurting it all out now and nothing could stop it. “I never think. All this—you finding out, them finding out, the Gen—Lei—your mother finding out—it was going to be in the future, and I don’t think about the future, because I can’t see myself having one.”

Ben hadn’t moved closer, but he no longer appeared wrathful. That was an improvement, at least. 

The words hurtled out of her like a herd of frantic cattle erupting from a pen. “And I never thought that we’d even get to this point, but we did, and now you’re looking at me like—” A sob fractured her sentence, but she stumbled on. “Like...like you looked at me in the beginning, when I was just a...a nobody. Just an outlaw to be jailed.”

She heard Ben suck in a shaky breath and knew he was going to say something she didn’t want to hear.

“And I can’t bear it, Ben.” The jacket’s fabric was soft against her cheeks when she wiped the tears away. “Because I know that something bad is gonna take me. A bullet, or a bad kick, or a long fall, and no matter how much I love you it’ll still never—”

_ Oh, shit, no. _

Rey clapped a hand over her mouth as if the action could drag the words back inside. ‘Love’ was a word best suited for those who had prospects. It was a shiny ideal, far too easily damaged by an orphaned, desperate thief.

“You love me?” Ben said. That hope, the one she so loved, flickered across his long face. 

Not trusting herself to remove her hand, Rey only nodded. The tears came hot and fast and trickled under her fingers. 

If they had been farther away, she thought he would have run to her, but it only took two long steps before he was cupping her cheeks, stroking his thumbs along her jaw, overwhelming her with the heat of his body and the rich, heady scent of his skin. Her fingers twined in his lapels in search of some sort of stability.

Rey shook her head against his palms. “Yeah, Goddammit, I do. But I don’t want to.” 

For some ludicrous reason the bastard looked like he was about to smile. He was so close, it was hard to keep his dimpling cheeks in focus. 

“Why not?” he said. “Would it really be that awful?”

“It...I…” He was trying to make light of it, damn him. “It scares me real bad, Marsh. More than anything.” The feel of his body pressing against hers was sending blazing currents down to her toes and she fought for concentration. “Because everyone I love always seems to leave somehow, and I...I don’t want you to leave at all.” 

“Oh, Rey.” He leaned in and whispered it against her forehead like a prayer. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.” 

Her hold tightened on his jacket. No one could promise that. It was like saying he didn’t plan on the moon setting; sure, he could pretend such a thing wasn’t going to happen, yet that wouldn’t stop it from sinking behind the cold mountains. 

“I won’t leave you,” Ben said, and for a moment she wondered if he’d read her thoughts, as fantastical an idea as that was. 

Rey said in a whisper, “But what if you do?” 

He kissed her then, soft and slow, and although it wasn’t the answer she wanted, she melted against him. He was being sweet, tender. His fingers trailed delicate trails over her neck while his tongue flicked against hers like the barest brush of a butterfly’s wing. The attempt at merging this man with the man who had flattened several patrons in a saloon made her head spin.  

He lifted his head slightly. When he spoke, his words were a heated caress against her cheek.

“Say it again.” 

Rey frowned. “What?”

“Say it, please.” The way he asked, so desperate and heartfelt, she understood. 

The words stuck in her throat even now. Earlier, they’d emerged on accident and slipped into the room. Now, the concept of actively bringing them forth made her blood rush in her ears. 

“I…” She swallowed. 

In the low light of the room, his whiskey eyes shone dark and urgent.

“I love you.” It wavered halfway through. Not good enough. Rey said it a second time and it felt better. Easier. Again, and this one was even stronger. She imagined that she was branding him with it, pressing the words into his skin with a sizzle. She would have said it a fourth if Ben hadn’t clutched her nape and pulled her into a kiss that was much more ravenous than before. He growled into her mouth, and she scraped her teeth against his skin, wanting to fully establish that he was here, and he was real, and he was  _ hers;  _ all of him, from the solid heave of his shoulders under her grasping hands, to the rough groans that seemed torn right from his chest, to the bitter tang of blood from his split lip on her tongue. 

The dresser thumped against the wall when he backed her into it. One of the rough-hewn drawer pulls ground into her spine, but she didn’t care, not when Ben was kissing her with an intensity that put a tremble in her legs and a tightness in her lungs. 

His large hands struggled with the buttons on her jacket. He probably could have undone them easily if he’d taken a moment to look down, though doing so would have taken his lips from hers, and Rey wouldn’t trade all the buttons in Silverton for that. 

The pop of a broken thread was as loud as a gunshot, and a freed button skittered across the wooden floor. 

All right, she’d fibbed a bit; Rey did have some compunction about someone damaging her brand new clothes. 

She clutched his scrabbling fingers and tipped her head away from him. 

“Ben!”

His growling grunt was like that of a frustrated bear. 

“You’ll rip it if you keep— _ aahnn.” _ A moan shuddered from her throat as his mouth closed on her neck. He nipped at her, scraped his teeth over her pulse while his hips pressed her harder into the dresser. Her legs parted enough for him to settle between them. The heat of his groin burned hot against her cunt. 

Hadn’t he just discovered that she’d been lying to him for days? Hadn’t some awful realization thumped him over the head only minutes earlier? 

“You want to do this?” she panted. “Now?”

Ben paused his assault just long enough to rasp, “Yes,” and then her jacket was slithering to the floor, her suspenders snapping as he wrenched them over her shoulders. 

She barely managed to undo his jacket and vest before he was tugging her pants down over hips with a ferocity that simultaneously startled and aroused her. 

“Careful!” she cried. “You’ll rip my new trousers.” 

Ben straightened with a huff that fluttered the hair at her temple, then wrenched off his own jacket and vest and whipped them to the floor. 

She’d nearly undone his gun belt and was shoving the leather through the buckle when Ben took over. The holstered pistol thudded against the wooden floorboards. It might have landed on his boot. He didn’t say anything though, and she didn’t ask, since she was too busy wrenching the buttons apart on his shirt. Inch by inch, she bared the smooth, pale skin of his chest, ducking forward to drag her tongue along his sternum. His collarbone was bruised. She feathered her lips over it, flicked it with her tongue. 

There was a swish of fabric and his trousers slid down to his ankles. His unbuttoned shirt parted and she saw that his cockstand wasn’t quite standing yet. It had been a trying day, and Rey could hardly hold it against him. 

She made to drop down—because she would just take him in her mouth and suck until he hardened against her tongue and pushed at the back of her throat—but he gripped her shoulders to stop her descent.

She was about to ask if everything was all right, then squeaked as he bodily lifted her so she sat on the dresser. Rey let out a little breathless laugh, marveling at the strength of him. Muscles flexed beneath his shirt as he removed her boots and tugged her trousers over her feet. Would there ever come a time that she didn’t want to lick every inch of this man’s skin?

Rey sent a quick glance to Ben’s half-hard cock. “You don’t want me to take care of that?” 

A dark hunger burned in his eyes and it made her nethers positively quiver. 

“Not now,” he said, and then he dropped to his knees and covered her bared cunt with his mouth. 

Pleasure surged through her with the expert workings of his lips and his teeth and his tongue. Oh, how she loved his mouth; it could be tender, then unyielding, then as wicked as a devil's dream. 

She glanced down. He’d undone her shirt at some point. Her eyes followed her exposed skin like a road, taking in her flushed, shining chest; the curve of one breast and the taut, pink nipple of the other; and lower and lower to the sharp angle of Ben’s nose as it pressed into her pubic hair and the bright burn of his gaze as it drifted up to meet hers. 

His tongue flicked over some sparking spot and her back bowed until her head knocked against the wall. Ben’s fingers dug into her hips, and she dug her own fingers into his lovely silken hair. 

Normally, her orgasms had a lead up. Warm currents would pulse at her toes as if she was standing in a stream, and then a slow tingle would make its way up her body. 

Not this time. 

Her climax broke upon her like the crack of a whip. She cried out against the blazing surge of pleasure and jerked against his incessant, perfect mouth. 

When she trembled and quieted at last, Ben rose, his hands still pinning her thighs. Her arousal shone on his mouth and in his short beard and Rey could feel herself contract involuntarily just by the sight of it. 

Her head lolled against the cold plaster. The only sounds in the room were her gasping breaths and the pound of her heart in her ears. Either she’d been quieter this time, or they had no neighbor on the other side of the wall. A small thing to be grateful for. It made her smile. 

“Something funny?” Ben asked. His lips quirked. 

Rey rolled her head, trying for a negative shake but only managing to loll again. “No...no one’s pounding back on the wall.” 

“Ah.” He chuckled. “Definitely an improvement.” 

Rey’s moan burbled out of her as he rubbed the head of his cock over her slippery cunt; he was as hard as iron and gliding right over the one spot where she wanted him. 

“Ben,” she said in a whine, high and desperate.  _ Don’t fucking toy with me, _ she wanted to say, but didn’t have the wherewithal to include more words. 

Her head fell back when he pushed in at last and she cried out as she felt herself stretch around him. 

Ben wrapped his powerful arms around her back to pull her upright, close to his body. With one sweet buck of his hips, he filled her completely, then moved in slow thrusts that sent brilliant aftershocks tripping along her nerves. 

“Say…” He cleared his throat, and Rey imagined that his chest felt the same tightness than hers did. “Say it again.” 

She would say it a thousand times. “God, Ben, I love you. So much.” 

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, gripping her hips and burying his face in her neck as if she’d just read him a line of the most beautiful prose. His thrusts became harder and faster. 

Rey kept saying it like a mantra, like the words were a ribbon that she twined around them both. Her hands slid underneath his shirt and trailed over his hot, slick skin before drifting down to grip his ass. Taut muscles flexed beneath her palms with each of his driving thrusts. She gripped harder. 

He must have taken her groping for encouragement. The dresser began to thump rhythmically into the wall, causing a loosened screw to roll around inside a drawer. One of the stubby legs squealed in protest. 

Ben’s boots were still on, his pants still settled around his ankles. It would be funny when she thought about later. Now though, the fact that he couldn’t bother to remove any more clothing only reinforced the wild eagerness of his fucking. 

Keeping a hand at her back to hold her upright, he swept her opened shirt over one shoulder and dragged his tongue across the full length of her collarbone. 

“Are...are you gonna say it?” As soon as the words were out, she wished she could take them back. She didn’t need to hear from him what he’d so loved hearing from her. He’d almost said it once in the woods. That would be enough. 

For all of her logic, she wasn’t doing a very good job at convincing herself.

Ben slowed and directed a confused look at Rey. “Haven’t I?”

“No.” She shifted under his stare and moved her hands to his hips. “Not...not really. Not out loud.” 

Ben’s smile was as soft and warm as summer. “I suppose I’ve been saying it so much in my head that I got mixed up.” 

There was a fluttering feeling in Rey’s stomach, like she’d become home to a flock of hummingbirds. 

His jaw worked—not in the way she’d seen it earlier, with barely-tempered rage; but with a frustration that implied he was trying to find the perfect thing to say. He was plucking words from the mad swirl of his thoughts and laying them out carefully. 

“I’m not sure what it means. Coming from me. But...” His brow furrowed as he stared at her lips. “I’m wildly in love with you, Rey.” 

Hearing that phrase hover in the air around her was far better than she’d imagined. She wrapped herself around Ben, and he pulled her to the very edge of the dresser so she perched right on the beveled edge. He bucked into her then, grunting with each sharp thrust. The tremble in his forearms told her that he was close.

“Touch yourself,” Ben said, sounding as strangled as a man at the gallows. “I want to feel...feel you... _ fuck,  _ feel your cunt squeeze me.”

A few rough strokes was all it took, then she was flying over that glorious precipice with a high moan that definitely would have woken the neighboring room, had anyone been inside. 

Ben’s thrusts were becoming harder and more uneven, and Rey had sudden thought no matter how irregular her courses, it might not be the best of ideas to have his spend within her a third time. 

“Maybe...I don’t think you should…” He was moving too fast, the clatter of the dresser too loud. 

“What?” Ben choked out. 

Rey tried again. “Don’t come in me, I—”

“Shit,  _ shit.” _ He pulled out right as his cum shot across her skin. It was hot on her belly and her thigh for just a second before it began to cool. Droplets of it shone beneath her navel and against her pubic hair. 

If she’d branded him with her words earlier, he’d done the same to her now. It was a nice feeling, though she had to admit that her words had been less messy.

Rey glanced up and saw that Ben was staring at the pearlescent streaks too, his mouth slack around panting breaths. 

“Jesus,” he muttered.  His fingers flexed on her thighs as if to steady himself, and Rey wondered if he enjoyed the sight as much as she did.

After a moment, he pulled his trousers to his waist and fastened the belt, then went to the water basin by the bed and dipped a clean washcloth into it. 

Rey couldn't find the energy to move: not when he pressed a soft kiss to her neck, nor when he wiped his spend from her skin. Her shirt lay draped around her elbows. It would take too much effort to button it, so she didn’t. Besides, the bed was a few steps away, and she planned on tumbling into it as soon as she could make her legs work again. She aimed a dreamy smile at Ben, who smiled back. 

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” she said. 

Ben blinked, then chuffed in shocked offense. “That might be the worst post-coital comment I’ve ever received.” He tossed the dirtied washcloth to the floor.

“No, that’s…” Rey giggled. “No, I meant confessing my, um, love.” 

“Aah.” Ben blew through his lips. “Well, that’s a relief.” He shot her raised brow. “Here  I was thinking I’d have take you again just to prove myself.” 

Rey fluttered her lashes and slid from the dresser. “I don’t know, Marsh. That sounds mighty tempting.” 

He ran a hand from her side up to cup her breast, his expression entirely wicked as he leaned in to nip her earlobe. “Don’t tempt me, bandit,” he growled into her ear. 

A gunshot blasted through the air and caused them both to jump. 

“What—” Rey began before another shot interrupted her. 

Someone was shouting outside, but she couldn’t hear it. 

Ben hastily did up a few buttons on his shirt and gestured at Rey to stay back from the window. He bent to retrieve his Winchester. 

Why did her shirt have to be harder to fasten than unfasten? Her fingers struggled with every button. Like  _ hell _ would she be caught in a gunfight with her tits bared to the world.

“Get down,” Ben ordered and Rey crouched into her trousers as he stood to the side of the window and pushed it open. 

She barely held back a shriek as another shot rang out and one of the lamps in the room exploded. 

The cords in Ben’s forearm tensed as cranked the lever of his Winchester. His hair was tousled from her grasping hands and damp with sweat by his ears. Nail marks she didn’t even remember making flushed long and pink on the area of his chest displayed by his unbuttoned shirt.

Lord, seeing him like this shouldn’t have been getting her riled up. They were being shot at by some enemy in the street who undoubtedly wanted them both dead, and all she could do was stare at Ben as he stood resplendent in rumpled fury. With a curse, she tore herself out of her reverie and scrambled to her gun belt. 

“You got a problem out there?” Ben shouted. 

A voice rose up through the window, as sour as curdled cream. 

“If’n you’re Benjamin Solo,” it said. 

Ben twitched. “And if I am?”

“Then yeah,” the voice continued. “We got a problem.” 

Halfway through buckling on her pistols, Rey sent a panicked look at Ben. His eyes flicked to her and his knuckles whitened as he gripped his rifle more tightly. 

“C’mon down, Benny,” someone said. “We heard that no one welcomed you to town.” Another bullet screamed into the room and shattered a mirror. Glass crashed to the floorboards. 

A different voice shouted, “Just consider us your welcoming committee!”

Laughs erupted from the street. 

Rey’s blood chilled at the sound of them all: cackling and raucous like a pack of hyenas. She knew those laughs. Perhaps she wasn’t familiar with the exact people that made them, but she knew just the same. 

The Devil’s Hand had come calling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read what's been distracting me from westerny things, head on over and check out [ The Witch in the Wood ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18537817/chapters/43938013), a collaboration between myself and the wickedly talented [ HarpiaHarpyja ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarpiaHarpyja/pseuds/HarpiaHarpyja) . Witches, and knights, and monsters, oh my!


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